


Mercy in the Wasteland

by Galen_Wordwyrm



Series: Mercy in the Wasteland [1]
Category: Fallout 4, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:57:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 32,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galen_Wordwyrm/pseuds/Galen_Wordwyrm
Summary: An Overwatch agent is in deep trouble





	1. Chapter 1

Mercy in the Wasteland - Part 1

Talon had picked a perfect night for their strike. Flickering of distant lightning preceded muted rumbles of thunder, with rain sluicing off roofs from overflowing eavestroughs. Agents Sombra, Widowmaker, and Reaper infiltrated the former Overwatch warehouse site in the dockyard of Boston with practiced ease, the incidental sounds they made masked by the blustering nor'easter. The handful of covert plainclothes guards fell to Widowmaker’s precision sniper fire, with security cameras and defence turrets defeated by a combination of the computer hacking skills of Sombra and the more direct and destructive methods of Reaper.

Sombra picked the locks with dismissive contempt, and she and Reaper entered, focused on retrieving the prototype teleport beacon Overwatch had captured almost a decade earlier. When the trap was sprung, they could hardly have been more surprised. Reaper swore darkly as Tracer shredded his defences, with support from Soldier 76 sending Sombra scrambling in retreat.

An improbable ricochet scored the former elite Overwatch agent’s ribs, slowing but not stopping him. A shimering stream of golden energy announced the arrival of their medic. Sombra cursed creatively and triggered her personal teleport beacon as an almighty stroke of lightning arced over the warehouse. The teleport beacon flared, wild shifts of coloured energy spattered and pulsed as the two teleport signatures attempted to harmonize with the unbridled fury of the storm.

\- - - - -

Dr. Angela Zeigler -hurt- everywhere. A quiet groan as she opened her eyes. Laying on her left side, she could feel her Valkyrie Rescue Suit’s port wing pressing uncomfortably through the suits kinetic distribution padding into her scapula. She sat up and performed a quick self assessment. Nothing was broken, but she was concerned she may have suffered a mild concussion on impact. Satisfied she was only bruised, she rose and surveyed her surroundings. 

Devastation. Ruined buildings, wild overgrowth and twisted trees everywhere. Her suit’s environment sensor suite had been chirping insistently, warning of an unusually elevated background radiation count. 

“Mercy to Watchtower, do you copy?” A whisper of random static answered her call sign. “Mercy to Watchtower, I need immediate evac and extraction on my twenty.” Silence. She switched her suit radio to scan mode, thinking rapidly, assessing her situation. Her suit’s sensors started to flag movement in the ruined buildings nearby, and out of reflex, Angela triggered her jump jets, leaping gracefully onto a sagging roof. Below her, deformed figures draped in rags and tattered remnants hissed and growled in frustration at the escape of their intended prey. Angela swallowed hard, recognizing the symptoms of severe radiation exposure. But people with that level of exposure should be bedridden, nearing organ failure and a painful lingering death, not sprinting in mindless rage. 

From her new vantage point, Angela repeated her call for evacuation, searching for a recognizable landmark. A steeple in the distance matched the location of the historic Old North Church on her suit’s mapping software. An enraged hiss was her only warning that one of the irradiated humans had managed to clamber up through the ruin in an attempt to reach her, and she leapt away in the nick of time, landing on yet another ruin. 

“What is going on? What happened?”

Her suit’s radio locked onto a commercial channel. “This is Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles, and you’re listening to Diamond City Radio, brought to you by Commonwealth Weaponry. It’s a dangerous world out there. Protect yourself, protect your family. And now, Danny Kaye and the Andrews Sisters!” A blare of trumpets announced the opening bars of a swing tune popular in the 1950s, leaving Angela more confused than ever. She locked on to the radio source, and referenced against her mapping software as best she could, planned an escape and evasion route that would take her to it.


	2. Mercy in the Wasteland - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy meets a nosy reporter

Mercy in the Wasteland - Part 2

Fifteen hours of walking, jump jet assisted leaps, hiding from the irradiated predatory humans, two running firefights with junkers, an encounter with some kind of monstrous human mutation, no sleep, and not enough food or water had left Dr. Angela Zeigler an exhausted mess. Now, less than a block from the source of the ‘Diamond City Radio’ transmissions, she simply had to rest, for a moment at least. A long abandoned service station offered a suggestion of shelter, and she slipped inside.

At some point in the past, another person had sheltered here, dragging in a stained mattress to lay on. Nearby was a battered mechanic’s toolbox. Grateful for the meagre comfort, Angela slumped onto the mattress, and in a moment had slipped into exhausted sleep.

“Oooo, she’s a pretty one!”

The rough male voice jarred Angela awake. She jolted upright in the pale dawn light, reaching for her Caduceus pistol, conscious of how few rounds remained in the magazine. The larger one of the two junkers hefted a spiked aluminum baseball bat at her. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid to drop your price, blondie!”, he rumbled. “Mags don’t pay for busted merchandise.”

The big junker reached for her, when a shout of “Bad idea!”, made him jerk around in time to be shot. The second smaller junker cursed, desperately spraying automatic gunfire at the broken door. Two precisely placed shots replied, dropping him where he stood.

A dark haired woman dressed in a scuffed red leather trench coat, wearing a peaked cap adorned with a battered card reading ‘Press’ tucked in the band, entered the service station and approached Angela. “You alright?” 

Angela nodded and climbed to her feet. “Thank you for a timely intervention, though perhaps you could have used less lethal methods”, she observed.

“Piper Wright, at your service. Those raider scum got better than they deserved.”

Angela crossed her arms, regarding the woman cooly. “Where I come from, we try to arrest such individuals.”

Piper smirked. “Yeah, that’s a great idea if you want to end up hanging from a hook in a raider den. C'mon, let’s get outa here before their buddies show up. It’s a quick run to get behind ‘The Wall’ from here.” A wall sounded like an excellent idea right about then. Angela picked up her Caduceus staff and followed Piper. 

The two women moved quickly and cautiously, passing the armed Diamond City guards at the checkpoint. Angela eyed the stiff-gaited blue security robots warily, unfamiliar with those particular models of omnics.

An open plaza adorned with the verdigrised statue of a baseball player led to a massive green blast door. To the left of the imposing portal, an intercom post waited, it’s ready signal blinking slowly.

“Hey Danny, it’s me. Open up.” A brief hiss of static.

“Is that you, Piper?”, came the tinny reply.

“Of course it’s me, Sullivan! Open the door! We’re exposed out here!”, Piper exclaimed.

“McDonough said to only let you back in if the General was with you.”

“I still live here, Sullivan, and it’s my caps paying for your meals, so open this door. Right. Now.” Piper’s voice promised imminent violence.

“I’m really sorry, Piper. But after your last fast one, the Mayor said I’d be living in Goodneighbor if I let you in again like last time.”

Piper’s tone dropped to a soft, almost seductive note. “Danny, how happy do you think Blue is gonna be when he finds out you let his best girl die like a dog on the doorstep?” She paused. “You and I both know he’s a damn good shot with that sniper rifle he carries.”

“Geez, Piper, alright!” Banging thuds as heavy bolts were withdrawn, and the huge steel panel rose, lifted by immense hydraulic powered steel arms.

“Diamond City. Yeah, it’s loud, filthy, filled with corrupt officials, but it’s home. Sorta. Long story”, mused Piper. “C'mon. Maybe we can get a drink at the Dugout before McDonough has us thrown out.”

Angela had only the faintest idea what was going on, but at least she was closer to the source of the radio signals. Someone in Diamond City would be able to tell her what was going on, she hoped.

Drawing herself up, straightening her shoulders, Angela followed her rescuer through the arch and up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Diamond City

Mercy in the Wasteland - Part 3

Diamond City proved to be a ramshackle collection of refugee built structures occupying the playing field and bleachers of Fenway Park. The center of the settlement was dominated by what turned out be a ramen stand operated by an omnic that only spoke fluent Japanese. The outer perimeter of the area was an open air market, dominated by an arms dealer, general merchant, pharmacy of dubious appearance, and a trauma surgery.

They were intercepted by a girl who was aggressively hawking a small letterpress newspaper at the bottom of the stairs leading to the settlement proper. “Piper, you gotta start checking in more often. We need more stories, and maybe some help if you’re not gonna be here.”

Piper lost the hard edge to her expression. “Nat, I’m really sorry I haven’t been around a whole lot. Running around with Blue, hunting for clues about his son and the Institute. Takes time. You know how it is.”

The young woman shook her head. “That’s not gonna matter if I get grabbed by the Institute, is it? It’s not like the Batters will actually come looking for me. You’re my sister. You’re supposed to watch out for me, not be running all over the Commonwealth!”

Piper let out a weary sigh, defeated. “You’re right. I have been neglecting the paper, and you. Tell ya what, when I have to head out with Blue, I’ll get Nick to look in on you every day. He’ll go through hell to get you back for me. He owes me that much.”

Nat huffed, then relented. “Okay. But you check in with a new story at least once a week.”

“Deal!” Piper turned to Angela. “C'mon, the Dugout is this way. Vadim has hot food, cold drinks, and a bed you can rent for a handful of caps.” She looked Angela up and down. “We might want to hit Fallon’s as well. Get you out of that ‘shoot me’ suit. The whole wings and halo motif are really out of place, Angel.”

As soon as they entered the Dugout, a voice called out in a thick Russian accent: “Piper! You return! And bring such a vision of loveliness with you! Ha!”

“It’s been a rough morning, Vadim. Two specials, and a couple of Gwinnet Ales.”

“Coming right up! Go. Sit. Scarlet will bring.”

Once they were seated, and the food arrived, Piper took a long swallow from her bottle. Angela sniffed her own open bottle, decided she’d encountered worse, and sipped. Passable, barely. Piper sighed in appreciation, eyes closed for a moment. She looked…vulnerable.

“Well, here we are, Angel. Deep in Diamond City, the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. Home, sweet home.” Piper sighed. “Nat’s right. I’ve been letting things slide, all starry-eyed over Blue, helping him with his problems.”

Angela eyed the food on the plate before her dubiously. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned him. He must be pretty special.”

“Yeah, he is. One of a kind. One in a million.” Wistful. “Well, enough of this moping around. You know I’m a reporter. Owner and publisher of Diamond City’s only newspaper, Publick Occurances”, Piper said with pride. “So, here’s what we’re gonna do, Angel. You say yes to an interview, I help you find your feet, get you set up.”

“That sounds fair. What do you want to know?” Angela took an experimental bite of the meat on her plate. Going by the taste, an unfortunately aged cut of something related to beef.

“Going by your accent, and the way you’re dressed, you’re not a local. That heater your packing isn’t like anything made in the last two hundred years”, Piper noted. She leaned forward. “And, just to let you know, if your a synth spy, you won’t leave this room alive.” Angela swallowed hard. 

“I…understand.”

“So, who are you, and where are you from, Angel?”

“My name is Dr. Angela Zeigler, Swiss national, researcher and combat medic for Overwatch, callsign ‘Mercy’. And I appear to be very lost.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper and Mercy talk

Mercy in the Wasteland - Part 4

Piper sat back in her chair. “What the hell is ‘Overwatch’? Part of the Brotherhood? Or are you on the run from the Institute?”

Angela took another bite of her meal, considering what to say. “Overwatch was, is, an international effort monitoring and responding to acts of terrorism and crime commited by those who possess abilities that exceed the median human population. It was founded in the wake of the Omnic Crisis.”

The look on Piper’s face openly displayed her scepticism. “Angel, there’s only a couple of things wrong with your story. One, there hasn’t been an international anything for two hundred years. Two, what the hell is an ‘Omnic’?”

“An omnic is an autonomous cybernetic intelligence, capable of heuristic learning. You have one serving ramen in the market”, Angela explained.

“Who, Takahashi? He’s been there for years. Only knows the one question. As far as anyone knows, he doesn’t learn anything.” Piper paused. “And what is ‘ramen’, by the way?”

Angela sighed quietly, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Japanese noodles.” She took several swallows of the less than impressive beer. “I need to find out what happened, why the city of Boston looks so different from three days ago.”

“Don’t know how to break it to you, Angel, but the Commonwealth hasn’t changed a whole lot. At least, not since the war”, Piper quipped.

“War?”

“Yeah. The ‘Big One’. It was in all the papers”, came the sarcastic reply.

Angela mused aloud. “That would explain the elevated background radiation count. And the germ line mutations. Winston would be fascinated.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Getting ahead of yourself, Angel. The interview is about you.”

Angela looked up, meeting Piper’s bemused gaze. “When did this war happen?”

“Two hundred years ago, give or take. Blue would be able to tell you more about why it happened.”

“This 'Blue’ you keep mentioning, he is a historian?”

“Nope. He was there when it all went down. Spent the intervening time as a human popsicle thanks to Vault Tec.” Piper took a moment to really look at Angela. “Oh my god. You really have no idea about any of this, do you?” Angela shook her head, feeling very alone.

Piper nibbled at a thumbnail, thoughts racing. “You said Boston, the Commonwealth, looks different from what you remember three days ago. The only thing that happened three days ago was the worst radiation storm in the past ten years…” She trailed off, then looked at Angela. “Did anything unusual happen three days ago? Anything at all?”

Angela considered, then decided truth was her best course of action. Piper appeared to be her only ally in this new and very dangerous world.

“Three days ago, I was part of an Overwatch operation to protect a prototype teleport beacon from a Talon strike team. There was a storm, and one of the Talon operatives is known for using her own teleport tech…” She trailed off, thinking.

Piper reached across the table, gently squeezing Angela’s hand. “Angel, I know some people. One of them is way smarter than me when it comes to stuff like this. He might be able to help you, at least to understand why you wound up here.

The other person you need to meet is Blue. Now finish eating and drink up. First stop is Fallon’s for some new clothes, then Arturo’s for some heat. Diamond City Surplus is the last stop to grab a pack and some supplies, then we’re on our way to Sanctuary.” 

Angela looked up. “What’s in Sanctuary?”

“Hope.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela learns a devastating truth

Mercy in the Wasteland - Part 5

Angela and Piper finished eating, drank the last of their beer, and departed the dubious charms of the Dugout Inn. As they strolled to the marketplace, Piper continued her inquiry.

“So what’s your Boston like?”

Angela smiled. “It’s not ‘my’ Boston. Boston was an assignment. I honestly didn’t see much more than the air terminal, and traffic from the transport van. I will say it’s much cleaner, compared to my present environment. I expect sanitation is a major challenge.” A pause. “Miss Wright, you said the war happened two centuries ago. What is the current date?”

“2288, maybe the first week of April? Calendars are a bit hard to come by these days.”

Angela stumbled, shocked. “What?!”

Piper glanced over her shoulder at her. “Yeah, 2288. Why?”

Angela’s shoulders slumped, devastation plain to see. “It seems this will be my permanent home.” A wry grin and a hastily wiped tear. “April is the cruelest month”, she quoted. “Christmas was just months ago for both of us, but my New Year was to celebrate the arrival of 2076.”

“Lemme get this straight. You got dumped here in some kind of weird teleportation science experiment, but the year you came from is before the war even happened? You and Blue definitely have to compare notes.”

Three hours and a lot of haggling later, Angela was outfitted with a backpack and sleeping bag, serviceable clothing, and no small surprise, 10mm ammunition compatable with her Caduceus pistol. After a prolonged discussion with Piper, she finally consented to the proprieter of Commonwealth Arms muting the bright white of her Valkyrie suit with several shades of grey in a camouflage pattern. Piper had loaned the ‘caps’ to cover the costs of the various purchases, saying she’d get a return in increased sales of the paper. By then it had become late in the day.

“Miss Wright, you’ve been most helpful.”

Piper waved the comment away. “No problem. One thing I learned hanging out with Blue and Preston is if we want the Commonwealth to improve, it’s up to each of us.l” Piper looked around, then jerked a thumb at the Power Noodle stand. “Whattaya say we grab some takeout, and you can crash with Nat and me. We’ll head to Sanctuary in the morning.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning in Diamond City

Piper clattered down the stairs from her sleeping loft, sidled past her younger sister who stirred grumpily on her own bed, flicking on the worn light switch in what laughably passed for the kitchen. The fridge held two warm bottles of Nuka Cola, a tin of purified water, some congealed mirelurk stew, and a box of ancient Sugar Bombs cereal. The Nuka Cola was the only vaguely appealing option. Scavving, trading, or hunting loomed if she and Nat were going to be eating anytime soon. A quiet groan reminded Piper she had a houseguest.

Angela sat up on the battered red couch where she had spent an uncomfortable night, her back stiff, desperate for something hot and caffeinated. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a now messy ponytail, the borrowed threadbare men’s t-shirt she had slept in almost not quite warm enough. “Guten morgen”, she mumbled. “Wo ist die wasserkloseten?”

“The dee what-now?”, queried Piper, intrigued by Angela’s native Swiss German. Angela blearily wiped the sleep from her eyes, and tried again. “Your pardon. The water-closet. Ah, I believe in America you call it a washroom”, she amended at Piper’s brief look of confusion.

“Oh, you mean the johns. Yeah, out the door, turn left, past Third, between Mayor McDonough’s stage and the mutfruit trees”, Piper directed. “Grab a few pages of the Bugle as you go. You’ll need ‘em if Vadim had a busy night.”

Ten minutes later an embarrassed Angela returned. “Next time, perhaps warn me that the door jams.”

“Sorry”, replied the chastened reporter. Piper changed the subject. “If we’re gonna find Blue, we better head out soon. Depending on weather, raiders, and the local wildlife, it might be a day or two before we get to Sanctuary, and I promised Nat I’d get Nick to keep an eye on her.”

Angela nodded, and donned her Valkyrie armor, checked that her pistol was loaded, then slipped the worn backpack on her shoulders and hefted her Cadeuses staff. Piper had shrugged into her signature red leather coat, her press cap snugged low over her eyes. Angela watched as Piper loaded a magazine into a modified 10mm pistol, chambered a round, then set the safety before slipping it into her coat. “A girl can’t be too careful”, she grinned at the Overwatch medic.

Piper crouched near Nat for a moment, whispering, then joined Angela and the two women slipped out the door.

Morning in Diamond City was light overcast and slight chill, so the walk to Nick Valentine’s office was welcome. A flickering red neon sign in the shape of a heart Angela had missed earlier pointed the way, leading to a battered metal door. Piper knocked twice, opened the door without waiting for a reply, and the two of them entered.

Ellie was puttering near the scavenged filing cabinets, while Nick loitered in his office chair, feet up on the desk, left hand behind his head, his skeletal robotic right hand rolling a cigarette in idle contemplation. His odd, square pupilled yellow eyes flicked in their direction, flew wide in shocked recognition, and then to everyone’s surprise, the cool, always composed synth promptly fell out of his chair.

No one moved as Nick rose to his knees from behind his desk, his face a mask of warring emotions.

“Jenny?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper and Angela visit a detective

Nick Valentine, the synth with a heart of gold and the memories of of a man dead for two hundred years, Diamond City’s heroic detective, braced himself against the desk and stood up, feeling like he’d literally seen a ghost. 

The door creaked closed behind his visitors, latching with a quiet click. Ellie, his ‘girl Friday’, was the first to speak. “Are you alright, Nick?” The battered file folder she held betrayed her shaking hands. 

“Yeah, I’m good”, the detective drawled as he righted his upended chair. Unsure, Ellie fussed in the background.

Piper glanced at Angela, cleared her throat, and took a half step closer to the desk. “I picked up another stray, and I was wondering if you’d keep an eye on Nat while we made the run to Sanctuary to find Blue. Angel here is someone who could use his help.”

Valentine sat down, looked down at his desk for a long moment, then looked Piper square in the eye. “No.” 

“What the hell, Nick?! You owe me!”, she accused, stabbing a pointed finger towards the battered synth.

“Sit down, and shut up”, Nick said quietly, placing both hands on the desk. “This time, you’re going to listen to me-”

“Nick, I dont-”, Piper interrupted. Nick’s metal fist hit the desk like a cannon going off. Piper was shocked into silence. Ellie quietly faded towards her quarters. Angela remained where she stood, immobile, calculating, scared as she had ever been during the Omnic Crisis, and yet fascinated.

“I said sit down.” A yellow pupilled glance at Angela. “Please. Let me explain.” Angela and Piper took their seats, Angela leaning her staff against the edge of Nick’s desk.

“Jesus, Nick, you…”, Piper trailed into uncharacteristic silence when the synth’s eyes met hers.

“Yesterday”, he began, “A very brave, very scared little girl came into my office. She was worried that her big sister was taking too many chances recently, running too hard to chase the big scoop, and as a result, might miss the signs she was getting in over her head.” Piper stiffened, about to interject when a cautionary hand on her arm told her not to interrupt. Valentine nodded a silent thank you to the haloed vision of his long dead sweetheart, and continued.

“Piper, you’re the best reporter in the Commonwealth. Hell, you’re the only reporter in the Commonwealth. Without you, people wouldnt be even half as well informed as they are, all thanks to you. But right now you’re burning the candle at both ends. 

You need to take a break, get your house in order, and look after the things that really matter, like the people you love.” Piper took a breath, ready to fire back, when Nick raised a hand to cut her off.

“Look, you’re in love, head over heels with our favorite popsicle, and who can blame you? The guy’s rock solid, always there for others, always lending a hand, all while hunting for his kidnapped kid. I know how how he can inspire people.”

“But, and this is big, you’re trying to keep up with a guy who’s old world military. Hell, the Gunners are learning to keep their heads down when he’s mobile and even the Brotherhood keep half an eye on him, with good reason. Jesus, Hancock is square with him, and that beef jerky bastard has the most adaptable ethics I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot.”

Nick paused, gauging his next words. “Piper, Diamond City needs you alive. Your sister needs you alive. Take some time off, make some sales of your paper, print some of those exclusives I know you already have. You need the caps.” A glance at Angela. “Yes, I already know how much you dropped on our friend here. I also know you have less than fifty caps to your name right now.” Nick opened one of the desk drawers, pulled out a battered tin box that rattled slightly and dropped it on the desk in front of Piper, closed the drawer. Piper opened the tin, saw it almost full of caps.

“Nick, I can’t…”, she began, and he waved her to silence yet again.

“Call it an investment in a mutual enterprise.” Piper stared at Nick. “Say hello to your new partner.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela has a confrontation

“Nick, I don’t know what to say.”

“ ‘Thank you’, is how most people start”, Valentine quipped. Piper stuck her tongue out at him. Nick smirked.

“Now, about our new friend here, you called her 'Angel’, and with that wings and halo get-up, I can see why.” Valentine leaned back slightly, robotic hand rubbing his chin. “I’m not gonna lie to you. When you walked in the door, I’d swear a woman I know for a fact has been dead for better than two hundred years had returned from the grave.”

“I assure you, Mister Valentine, I am quite alive. And I would prefer to remain so”, Dr. Zeigler replied. “As regards your mention of two hundred years, yes, that is relevant, though not how you might imagine.” Angela leaned forward, fascinated. “Mister Valentine, please pardon me, but you are the most magnificent expression of Omnic technology I have ever witnessed, even in your present state of disrepair.”

“What the hell is an 'Omnic’?”

Angela smiled, sure of herself for the first time this morning. “An Omnic is a heuristic artificial intelligence, usually humanoid in shape, although you are the closest I have ever seen one of you approximate an individual human appearance. Your personality matrix is wonderful, based perhaps on the film noir detectives of the mid-twentieth century?”

Nick’s face was carefully neutral, all the while alarm bells jangled in his head. This lady was far more intelligent, and therefore more dangerous than she might appear. He casually lit a cigarette, took a long draw, smoke leaking out of his damaged cheek, curling under the brim of his fedora. After a moment, he spoke.

“You’re the spitting image of my dead girlfriend, but you talk like one of the researchers from the Institute.” A pause. “Either I get answers in the next ten seconds, or I start shooting. 

Your choice.”

Piper swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. “Nick, you’re scaring me.” She glanced from Angel to Valentine, guessing, assessing her chances.

Angela slowly, carefully, placed both her hands palm down on the desk. In a voice that shook only slightly, she began: “My name is Doctor Angela Zeigler, of Overwatch, callsign 'Mercy’…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper gets a shock

After almost three hours of skillful interrogation by Nick Valentine, Piper had heard enough of Angel’s life story to write an article that would blow her previous best seller out of the water. She made her exit gracefully, Nick and Angela hardly looking up. Ellie smiled, squeezed her hands, and let Piper out.

The chill April morning had become a thin, bitter Atlantic squall, the rain just short of sleet. An almost perfect match for her mood. She perched on one of the stools at the counter of Power Noodle, eyeing Takahashi after the robot had delivered her bowl of broth and ramen. Angel’s explanation of the ‘Omnic Crisis’ had instilled a new distrust of mechanical minds. 

Piper picked at her meal, mind elsewhere, her mood not so subtly warning those around her she wanted to be left alone.

What was she doing? Nat needed her, the paper would go under if she wasn’t careful, Diamond City was under the constant threat of infiltration by hostile synths, not to mention crime, corruption, and the ever present danger of raiders, Gunners, and super mutants. With so much on her plate, how dare she get so wound up in Blue’s life to the exclusion of her own?

A gust of wind carried a wisp of Nats voice, “…read all about it, synth double shot by…”

Damn it! It wasn’t fair! Nat, standing by the bottom of the stairs, rain or shine, hawking papers while she ran around chasing stories, chasing Blue. If it wasn’t for her, Nat would be…what? Safe? 

Piper swept the now cold bowl of noodles off the counter, sending it to shatter and spill on the ground. She stifled a sob of suppressed frustration, humiliation, and self-pity, her expression making even the Diamond City guard stand back. She ran through the rain, towards home.

Nat’s voice was quieter as she approached, not projecting as it usually did. “Read a…all abou..about it”, Nat called as she saw Piper draw close. “Read all…hey, sis.” A smile. “You’re home.” Nat’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fainted, toppling from the wooden crate that was her hawking perch. Piper caught Nat before she could hit the ground. A hand to Nat’s forehead confirmed Piper’s fear. Fever.

Terrified, Piper carried her little sister into their home, stripped Nat out of her sodden clothes, and wrapped her in all the blankets she could find in the house.

“I’ll be right back! Don’t you dare go anywhere!”

Sobbing, tears mixing with the rain, Piper sprinted through the mud of Diamond City. She bruised her shoulder, ricochetting heavily off the wall as she entered Third. At the the alcove that almost concealed Nick’s door, she slipped, falling on her hip, tearing her treasured coat. She didn’t care. Slamming the door open, she stumbled in, falling against Angela’s knees. Nick was open mouthed, silent.

“Muh…muh…my baby sister’s sick!”, Piper howled. “Yuh…yuh…yuh…You’re gonna make her better, you BITCH!” Tears streamed down Piper’s face. “You’re a DOCTOR! You make her better now! I can’t lose her! She’s all the family I have left!”

Angela glanced at Nick.

“Go.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela shows her moves

Angela jogged quickly to the Publick Occurances building that was Piper and Nat’s home. The chill rain sluiced off overhangs and poured from gutters. Once inside, Angela consulted her armor’s environmental sensors, then knelt to assess the young woman.

High fever, sweating, minimal pupilary response, rapid pulse, shallow breathing, and delirium. Classic symptoms of respiratory illness, probably an influenza variant. Dr. Zeigler administered a mild analgesic from her suit’s limited first aid supply. She was going to need more potent anti-virals very soon. 

Angela remembered that there was another doctor in town, in the marketplace. She’d start there.

Securing the second door to the dwelling, Angela stepped into the covered porch that protected the letterpress printing machine. Nick Valentine stood there in the watery afternoon light. “What’s the good word, Doc?”

“Very little at this time. The younger Miss Wright has contracted what is probably an influenza variant that could prove fatal if not treated promptly. Excuse me”, Angela said, stepping around the detective. 

\- - - - - 

Dr. Sun looked up, annoyed that he wasn’t going to be allowed to close up shop to get out of the damned cold and wet. Some armor clad bimbo was striding up to him with -that- look in their eye, like they knew everything. “I need five litres of sterile IV solution, morphine, a broad spectrum antibiotic, antiseptic solution, and whatever analgesics and painkillers you have available!”

Sun was unimpressed. Some wastelander had stumbled across an old copy of the DC Medical Journal, and thought they could push him around. “Look, I have some Med-X, a few Stimpacs, and Rad-Away. Prices are non-negotiable.”

She leaned close. Damn, he had to admit she was a looker. “Fine. I’ll take them.”

“That’ll be two hundred caps, sweetie.”

“Excuse me?”

“Two hundred caps”, Sun repeated, eyeing Angela up and down, imagining what she was like under her armor. “Unless you’d rather work something out in trade.” The blatant hint hung in the air.

“Are you insinuating that I should perform sexual favors in exchange for medical supplies that may prevent a pandemic from sweeping through this community?”, Angela inquired sweetly, the dangerous edge in her voice lost on her male counterpart. 

Dr. Sun nodded. “I see we understand one another”, he replied, leaning against the wall smugly.

-!!WHAM!!-

An armored right boot heel, flowing from a shapely leg to a remarkable set of hips, was embedded a good two inches into the corrugated metal wall beside Dr. Sun’s ear. He’d never even seen the kick. In the marketplace, a Diamond City guard decided that, nope, interfering in this was definitely not worth dying for.

“Doctor, I have had a remarkably unpleasant past few days. I’m tired, cold, hungry, have been both sleep and caffeine deprived, been threatened by a professional interrogator, and on top of it all, I now have a patient who is going into medical distress.

I. Am. Taking. The. Medicines. At. No. Charge.

Do you understand? Nod once if you do.”

Sun nodded, his face ashen. Angela removed her foot from it’s position, collected the medical supplies and some surgical tubing she spotted, swept them all into a not too clean bag, and departed. 

\- - - - - 

“Jesus, Bob! Some wastelander just ripped off the Mega Surgery Center!”, an outraged Diamond City guard exclaimed. His partner, Bob, gave a slow blink.

“I didn’t see a damn thing, Frank”, was the measured reply.

“For gods sake, you were staring at her ass when she put her boot into the wall beside the doc’s head!”, Frank protested.

“And that’s why I didn’t see a damn thing. Woman can kick that high, that hard, it ain’t worth my life to step in. No suh! No way, no how” Bob explained. “You best forget you saw it too.”

Molified, Frank relented. “When you put it like that…”

“Zactly.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick lends a hand

“Verdammnt schwein”, Angela muttered under her breath as she stomped back to Publick Occurrences. Out of the corner of her eye, two Diamond City guards did their very best to look pre-occupied with anything but her. 

“Anything I can do to help, Doc?”, Valentine asked.

Angela frowned. “Short of a full epidemiological lab, I’m going to have to make do with field expedients and hope for the best. It doesn’t help that the sanitation in Diamond City isn’t a lot better than some of the junker slums.”

“Hmm”, Valentine mused. “A full bug hunt lab, eh? Well, in the mean time, what do you need?” He opened the door to Piper’s home and they stepped inside.

Angela injected a measured dose of Med-X into Nat. “I need a dozen sterilized glass bottles, ten litres of purified water, half a kilo of salt, and two litres of pure alcohol. I’ve got almost everything else I need here.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Please tell Miss Wright, Piper, I will do my very best.”

Valentine was silent for a moment, his eyes flicking from Nat to Angela, then he smiled. “You know what, Angel? I think I’m gonna start believing in miracles.” Nick turned to the door. “Look after the kid. I’ll be right back.”

Angela nodded.

\- - - - -

Nick Valentine almost swaggered as he returned to his office, he was feeling so good. Even the rain seemed delightful. While he had been gone, Ellie had managed to calm Piper down, getting her to drink some water. 

Piper was in one of the chairs his clients usually sat in, looking ashamed. “Nick, I wanna apologise. I made myself look like a total fool with Angela.” 

He sank to one knee in front of her, his hand on her shoulder in understanding. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Everyone is allowed to freak out once in a while. Nat’s in good hands from what I can see. Angela seems to know her stuff.” She could barely meet his honest gaze.

“Do you have a place to crash? Angela said Nat might have a flu, so that could mean a quarantine. That is, if you don’t come down with it too.”

Piper smiled wistfully. “Yeah. Blue gave me a spare key to his Outfeild trailer. I’m good.”

Nick patted her shoulder approvingly. “Good. Get some rest. And, speaking of our favorite pre-war relic, I have an errand to run.”

\- - - - -

Piper and Nick parted ways, Piper heading to the trailer, and Nick went to the Dugout Inn. 

“Valentine, you rusty bastard, no gunning down my customers like last time!”, Vadim yelled as he entered.

“Fine by me. I’ll let the next wastelander who can’t take a joke or hold their liquor shoot you”, Nick replied calmly.

Vadim mimed being shot in the heart. “You wound me! Ha!”, he grinned. “So, ready to try my moonshine?”

“Actually, your hooch is the reason I’m here. I’ll take three gallons of the stuff.” Vadim stared at Nick in disbelief. 

“Don’t play vith me, Nicky. A joke is a joke, but Bobrov’s Best is a matter of pride.” Vadim waved a finger at the battered synth.

“I’m dead serious, Vadim. Three gallons, and I need as many sterilized bottles as you have lying around. I also need a box of salt, and a case of purified water. Send the bill to my office, I’ll pay you in the morning.”

“Jesus, Valentine, this must be a hell of a party you’re planning.” Vadim said.

“I’ll lug the hooch and water myself. Can you or Scarlet drop off the bottles and salt at Publick Occurrences? Just leave them at the office door.”, Nick requested.

“Piper? Is she alright?” Vadim paled at a thought as he hefted the gallon jugs onto the bar counter. “Not the leetle one, Nat?”, he guessed. Nick nodded silently as be took the jugs. Vadim scowled. “I will bring everything else. Personally.”

“Will wonders never cease? Vadim, you’ve got a heart of gold.”

\- - - - -

The supplies delivered to Dr. Zeigler’s capable hands, Nick made his way to Diamond City Radio. He knocked and let himself in.

“This is Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles, and coming right up, the Three Suns and 'Worry Worry Worry’.” The lanky DJ looked up as Nick entered, and paled slightly.

“Oh no…”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing the night together

Travis Miles swallowed the lump in his throat as Nick Valentine settled in his only other chair. Almost second nature, he flicked his mic to silent.

“What, ah, hmm, what c-can I do for you, Mr. Valentine, sir?”

Nick smiled, trying to reassure the nervous DJ. Travis smiled as well, whimpering only slightly. “First off, calm down.” Travis almost relaxed, then looked up.

“This is about the business at the brewery, isn’t it? Oh geez, I always knew those guys would have friends. I’m dead. That’s it, I’m dead, and I only ever got to kiss Scarlet that one time”, Travis said resignedly.

Nick shook his head. “Seriously, kid, relax. No one misses the raiders you and the General took out rescuing Vadim.” Travis smiled. “Yeah, that was kinda cool, wasn’t it?”, he asked the synth.

Nick grinned. “That it was, kid. Took brass ones to pull that off, that’s for certain. As it happens, our mutual friend is why I’m here. Can that rig of yours hit the Castle frequency?”

“The Minutemen? Yeah, no problem. You need to get a message to the General through Freedom Radio?”, Travis asked.

“You catch on quick.” Nick’s praise made the insecure DJ feel ten feet tall. “Pass the word that we need to meet him and Curie at Vault 81 pronto, and that we need a Minuteman stretcher detail to meet us at Publick Occurrences asap come morning.”

Travis grinned. “As good as done, Nick, I mean, Mr. Valentine, sir.”

Valentine clapped Travis on the shoulder, then let himself out.

\- - - - -

Angela was dozing when Nick let himself into Publick Occurrences. He noted Angela had used Vadim’s homebrew liberally as a disinfectant, and saw she had rigged a crude IV line for Nat from a sterile bottle, surgical tubing, a clothespin, and a repurposed Med-X syringe needle. Several similar bottles stood ready nearby.

Nick eased himself gently to sit at the opposite end of the couch, trying not to disturb Angela. “Who was Jenny?” Nick glanced at Angela. Her eyes were still closed.

Valentine sighed. “Only two other people know what I’m about to tell you. Piper is one of them. 

As far as I can tell, I’m a prototype synth, running around with the memories of a Chicago cop named Nick Valentine, a man who’s been dead for more than two hundred years. Jennifer Lands was his fiance. She was murdered by a mobster named Eddie Winter. And I’ll be damned if you aren’t a dead ringer for her, right down to the smile and blue eyes.”

Angela opened her eyes, turning slightly to look at Nick. “It’s been two hundred years, and you still miss her.”

Nick stared at his hands, flexing them. “Yeah. A ghost mourning a ghost. How pathetic is that? But, better to have loved and lost, and all that bullshit. Not like I’m much use to a woman these days.”

“Where I come from, such romances, between Omnics and humans are not unheard of”, Angela noted with a tired smile. She stretched, rose, and checked on Nat. “Do you mind?”, Angela asked, waving at the seals of her armor. “I can sleep in it, but it gets uncomfortable.”

“I’d blush, but they left that out on this model”, Nick said wryly. “I’ll see you in the morning. I…arranged a surprise for you-”

“Stay.”

The single word froze Nick in place.

“I could use the company.” Angela shed her armor with practiced ease, an uninhibitedly changed into the worn t-shirt she’d used the night before. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she stretched out on the couch, her head in Nick’s lap.

“You remind me of an old, dear friend. If I may?”, she said, making herself comfortable.

“Any time you want, Angel. Any time you want.”

Nick sat there, one hand stroking Angela’s hair, smoking, staring into the candle lit night, deep in memory.


	13. Stretcher Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minutemen arrive in Diamond City

Morning. 

Piper didn't actually dislike morning, she just wished they'd schedule it later in the day. She rolled over and sat up, thinking vaguely that she was hungry. Blue always had supplies squirreled away in his various bolt holes, and the Outfeild trailer was no different. A quick bite, some Nuka to wash it down with, and some water splashed on her face fortified her to the point she could face the day. Piper shucked into her well worn pants, laced her boots, and sighed in annoyance at the rip in her beloved red leather coat. She'd have to sew that up sooner rather than later, but a strip of duct tape would have to serve for the moment. 

Piper logged on to Blue's trailer terminal, leaving a note she had been in, and that she missed him, then logged off and powered down the terminal. Snugging her newsboy cap down, Piper exited the trailer and locked up.

The back streets of Diamond City were quiet. Piper wasn't sure if that was reassuring or creepy. That quiet vanished as she approached home.

"Y'all better watch your step, Minuteman", the Diamond City guard muttered to a familiar figure. Four other Minutemen stood near the overhang of Publick Occurrences, one of them with a rolled field litter on her shoulder. "We don't want a repeat of the Quincy massacre."

Preston Garvey, second in command of the Minutemen, turned to face his critic. 'Oh boy, here we go', Piper thought.

"Don't you have a mutfruit orchard you should be guarding?" Preston smiled as the guard backed off. Flipping the safety off his laser musket had probably helped.

"Hey, Preston", Piper greeted him. "I thought you were camped out at the Castle these days, what with the recruiting drive and all." Preston flipped the safety back on, and slung his laser musket on his shoulder.

"I thought it would be a good thing to stretch my legs and see how the Commonwealth was shaping up, what kind of recruits the Minutemen were getting. Turns out it was the right idea. I'm your escort until the General meets us at Vault 81."

"Looks like I'm the front page today: "Local reporter saved by Minutemen", Piper mimed the headline being laid out in midair. "Seriously, thanks Preston. I owe you."

"Just doing my job", Preston replied with a smile that was only tinged with a little sadness.

Ten minutes later, Nat was being carried up the stairs to Diamond City's main gate, where Danny Sullivan actually snapped to attention and sketched a salute as the Minutemen passed. Preston took point, leading the litter party. Piper walked beside Nick, and Angel in her freshly camo'd armour walked beside Nat's stretcher, leaving the last Minuteman as rear guard. They had just cleared the main gate when Travis Miles, out of breath, caught up to them.

He waved, catching his breath, hands on his knees as he puffed. "Just heard...(whoo)...from the General...(puff)...He's already mobile...(god those stairs)...and he's bringing Curie...(I think I pulled something)...He said he'd meet you at the vault door."

Piper smiled, and Nick gently punched her shoulder. "You see, kid? I told you we'd look after you and Nat."

Preston chimed in. "As long as we don't have any surprises, we should be at Vault 81 in just over an hour. Move out, people."


	14. On the road again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel on your shoulder

The litter party for Nat had been on the road for about fifteen minutes when Piper glanced over her shoulder at Angela. "So, Angel, what's up with the halo bit of your armor? Does it actually do anything besides look neat?"

Angela smiled. "My halo is a combination communications and short-range combat radar transceiver, environmental sensor, and neural link heads-up-display" she replied with some pride. "It was the result of certain advances made in Omnic-based technology by the Overwatch program, and modified by my friend Winston for field use."

"Which means...?", Piper prompted. "Which means, right now I am aware of the relative ambient environment including radiation count, the level of exertion of Nat's stretcher bearers based on breathing and heart rates, every movement to one hundred meters, and Travis Miles is going to play 'The End of the World' by Skeeter Davis next", Angela explained.

"And me not close to a radio", Nick broke in cheerfully. Chuckles from the litter party. 

They were approaching a long abandoned diner near Chestnut Hills Reservoir, almost within sight of Vault 81 when the feral ghouls sprang their ambush.

"Movement! Movement!" "Right flank!" "Cover fire! Protect the payload!", Angela heard herself call the last as lasers cracked and gunfire shattered the morning quiet. The litter-bearers glanced at Preston, who jerked his head to indicate a place behind the ruined diner. A scream as one of the ferals brought down the trailing Minuteman, then more gunfire, glimpses of Nick and Piper efficiently disposing of the ghouls with pistol shots born of a lifetime of practice, Preston standing like a rock, taking careful aim, making each shot count. 

One of the radiation-induced nightmares spotted Angela, and charged. No time to draw her pistol, Angela countered with her Caduceus staff, rocking the diseased creature back, before breaking it's right knee with a ground tip strike, then fatally caving in its skull with a blow from the staff's other end. The fight was over.

"That was pretty amazing", Garvey drawled in appreciation. Angela nodded, then went to attend the wounded. A quick triage revealed no injuries more serious than a nasty bite which she treated quickly and efficiently. One fatality, her throat torn out by a ghoul. Preston said a few words over his fallen comrade, then he and the remaining Minutemen stripped the corpse of equipment and weapons while Piper and Nick stood watch, before an expedient field burial under rubble. "Saddle up. We move out in two", was all Preston said when they finished.

"Best idea I've heard all morning", Piper snarked. 

The bullet took Piper high in the right shoulder, spinning her around before she fell heavily to the cracked pavement. "No!", bellowed Nick, his well-used pipe revolver thundering as he returned fire at the figures flitting from cover to cover up the ruined street, dodging from from behind shattered houses to ruined cars, until the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

"Gunners!", Preston cursed, as he too was hit. "Go! Get Piper and Nat to the Vault! Nick and I will cover you!"

"Noch nie!", Angela snarled. She sprinted forward, snatching up the fallen Minuteman's combat rifle, triggering her jump jets, wings spread for maximum lift. In that instant, raining precision rifle fire from the ultimate high ground into the woefully caught off guard Gunners, she transformed from angel of mercy into an avenging valkyrie, truly a chooser of the slain.

"Heroes never die!", she defiantly screamed. 

Angela landed on her feet, her back to her fallen enemies, wings at full extention, framed by wreckage and lit by the fireballs of exploding cars. She jogged to Piper, past Preston who stood openmouthed in astonishment.

Gently, Angela tended to Piper's wounded shoulder, and repeated softly, "Heroes never die."


	15. Commonwealth Two Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So near and yet so far

The Sole Survivor was known by many names. To Preston Garvey, he was 'The General'. The Railroad knew him as 'The Professor'. Codsworth, his pre-war Mr. Handy, still called him Mister Stark. Curie, one time research robot and now synth, called him "Chéri". But to Piper Wright, who had come to occupy the space in his heart left by the murder of his wife Nora, he was simply "Blue". 

The Commonwealth Minutemen's 'Radio Freedom' had alerted him to make his way to Vault 81 ASAP and to bring Curie. With the ground-covering jog-trot pace learned more than two and a quarter centuries ago in the 108th Infantry, he was almost there. Ten or so meters behind him, Curie did her best to keep up.

\- - - - -

Nick Valentine still wasn't completely sure what the hell had just happened. One moment the Minuteman stretcher detail for Nat Wright had been mopping up after a ghoul attack. The next moment, Nat's older sister Piper was down, and Preston Garvey was wounded, both shot by an opportunistic Gunner scavenger detail. Seconds later the entire Gunner squad had been wiped out by an enraged avenging angel, a combat medic from another time and place. 'Emphasis on the combat', Nick mused to himself.

"You said that fancy armor of yours had a radio in it. Any chance you can reach the Minuteman frequency to update the General, maybe get us some backup?", Nick suggested. Angela nodded, making the call as she tended to Piper. Nick kept watch, reloading as many guns as he could find, while one of the stretcher bearers applied a Stimpak to Garvey.

\- - - - -

Stark, the Sole Survivor, paused as he checked map coordinates on his Pip-boy. 'Half a klick or so', he thought. Curie caught up to him, slightly winded. "All zis running, it is very good for the 'eart, but I fear I am not yet used to it, chéri." In the distance, the crackle of gunshots. Just another glorious day in the Commonwealth.

"It gets easier with time, minette", Sole reassured her. Curie blushed at the affectionate term, then blushed harder when she remembered why humans blushed at such thoughts in the first place. A pale rose hue descended to touch the hollow of her throat...

Sole pecked Curie's cheek. "C'mon. We're almost ther-"

"Mayday, mayday, mayday", the calm voice broke in over the radio. "Calling the General. We are in need of immediate evacuation. We have casualties; three wounded, one in medical distress, one KIA. We are located between a café and a lake. Look for black smoke." 

Sole's head snapped up, scanning the horizon. There! To the left, just south of east! 'Shit, the same direction as the firefight', he realized. He tapped Curie, pointing at the smoke. "Double-time", he ordered and set the pace.

\- - - - -

"We've got company!", barked Nick, spotting movement at the far end of the street. Raiders, drawn by the lull in shooting, out to scavenge whatever they could.

"Aw, hell no!", Garvey snarled. "Not today, dammit!" Angela swapped magazines, then tossed him the combat rifle she had used to wipe out the Gunners, drawing her Caduceus pistol in a practiced motion at the same time. All three took up firing stances, covered by the surviving Minutemen. 

"Fresh meat! Git some!", a raider in a sack hood and road leathers taunted as she threw a flaming Molotov cocktail.

The improvised incendiary was barely out of her hand when it exploded, shattered by a precise shot. The flaming cloud enveloped the raider, searing her lungs as she screamed her last breath in agony.

\- - - - -

The sight of a far too familiar figure draped in a red leather trench coat laid out on the ground snapped Sole into a methodical combat routine. Move, cover, identify and neutralise, move again. Just like Alaska. A raider foolishly took cover but left their legs exposed. Sole kneecapped him, then finished the job with two headshots. Clinical. Ruthless.

The raiders never stood a chance.


	16. As the dust settles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's say hi to the neighbors

The last expended cartridge pinged to the ground, smoke wisping upward. 

Angela let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She hated combat, hated the waste, the stupidity. She slumped to her knees, swallowing the familiar flutter of nausea post-combat adrenaline always left her with. It took her three tries to holster her pistol.

"Alright then, Angela's in the club", Nick observed dryly. Preston snorted in amusement.

"Club? Excuse me?" Angela looked to Preston for an explanation.

Preston grinned. "Both Nick and I had our asses saved by the General. And, speaking of...", Preston pointed. "Meet the General." Angela clambered to her feet, picking up her Caduceus staff as she did so.

The General of the Minutemen stood just under six feet tall, his silver-flecked dark hair under a black beret. Mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes but not the old jagged scar on his right cheek. Dust on his goatee where he'd brushed against something. He wore some kind of advanced ballistic armor Angela was unfamiliar with which had been US military OD green, but had been repainted a grey-blue.

"Nate Stark. A pleasure." A brief, friendly smile as he held out his hand politely.

"Doctor Angela Zeigler", she replied as they shook hands. 

"I'll get all the details shortly, but if you don't mind?" Sole gestured at Piper. Angela nodded in understanding and stood aside. 

Angela watched as Sole knelt close to Piper, murmuring to her. "Hey, Blue, it's okay", she reassured him. "Not the first time I've been shot, probably won't be the last."

"Objective journalism does not mean being the object people shoot at", he admonished gently.

Piper snorted. "Ow. No fair making me laugh."

The sound of a footstep to Angela's left made her look. A dark haired, attractive young woman with intelligence shining in earnest blue eyes gazed at Piper and the General. "Ze human 'eart, it is so amazing. So strong zat it can hold more zan one close, but a careless word can break it", she observed. "Your pardon. I am Curie, formerly Contagions Vulnerability Robotic Infirmary Engineer."

Angela took a moment to assess the young woman. Curie regarded Angela just as closely.

"Say hello to a living, breathing, Gen Three synth, Doc.", Nick said cordially. "Nothing at all like the antique yours truly."

"I really hate to break up this touching reunion and mutual admiration society chapter meeting, but we are exposed as hell out here", Preston observed. "I suggest we get to Vault 81 pronto."

In short order the stretcher cum rescue party set out: Sole walking point, Curie took charge of Piper, and Angela, Preston, and Nick formed a guard around Nat's stretcher, with the remaining Minuteman bringing up the rear.


	17. Parting is sweet sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll be in my heart

Four days since Angela had been abruptly dumped into this madhouse post apocalypse. Now she marched as part of a litter party to save a life. How many times had she done this? Twenty times? A hundred? More? She'd lost count. 

Her parents had both perished in the Omnic Crisis. Perhaps it was inevitable that she would spend the balance of her life healing those affected by war.

But war? War never changes, she thought to herself.

"Alright, we've arrived", Garvey announced. "And of course Cricket is here." He sounded less than impressed at the latter.

'Here' was a small collection of shacks and a weathered metal pre-fab hut inside a rusting chain-link fence perimeter that once secured the excavated rockface that was now the entrance to Vault 81. A two-headed mutated cow bellowed, and Angela's stomach lurched when she realised what she had eaten in the Dugout Inn. This particular specimen was apparently a pack animal for a merchant and her guards General Stark was engaged in bartering with.

"Well, this is where we part company, Dr. Zeigler", Garvey said as he slung his weapon on his shoulder. "It was a true pleasure to meet you. I hope we'll be seeing more of you around the Commonwealth."

"I suspect I will be something of a fixture", Angela replied, as she noticed Nick Valentine doing his best to slip away unobserved. "Please, excuse me one moment."

"Oh no, Mister Valentine, you do not escape so easily!" Nick sighed resignedly, and shook his head as Angela approached him. 

"I thought I put it behind me when I finally plugged the bastard who killed Jenny. I was wrong", Nick began. "I -", that's as far as he got when Angela abruptly embraced him. 

"One: You are a very dear friend to me, and the only reminder of a home I will in all probability never see again.

Two: You need to grieve. I will be there for you, no matter what. Because I need to grieve too.

Three: I'm not Jennifer, but in time I hope we will become as dear to each other as you and she were," Angela said softly. "We both need to heal."

Slowly, tentatively, Nick embraced Angela. "You know, I think I'd like to give that a try", he said wistfully as he held her. Nick took half-step back, not ready to let go just yet. "You have patients to look after, and I've got some loose ends to tie up in Diamond City. Besides", Nick smirked, "someone has to look after Garvey while he's on the road."

"I heard that!", Preston grinned as he and the Minutemen approached. Angela embraced Nick one more time, then joined Curie in lifting Nat's stretcher. 

"Ooooo, looks like someone made a friend!", Piper teased.

"Zat would be one more than you have", Curie observed, deadpan.

"Girls, girls, you're all pretty!", Nate interrupted before the usual friendly bickering began. "Can we please finish the rescue, then get to the makeup snuggles?" Piper and Curie glanced at each other, then burst out laughing.

"Cait is going to be most annoyed when she finds out she missed out on makeup snuggles!", Curie noted.

"Livid", agreed Piper.

Nate chuckled, then linked his Pip-boy to the door mechanism, triggering the Vault door opening sequence. Klaxons blared, and Angela watched as the great Vault door retracted, then rolled aside...


	18. Playtime is over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austin grows up

Austin Engill was bored. Miss Katy was giving yet another class on Vault water reclaimation, purification, and recycling in regards to personal hygiene. He fidgeted, then resigned himself to enduring the last forty-five minutes of class, propping his cheek up on his desk with one hand, eyes glazing over.

A clatter of footsteps in the corridor snapped his head around. That sounded like the General talking! "Curie, I'll take your end, you run ahead to let Doctor Forsythe know what we need."

Austin was halfway to the door when Miss Katy called on him. "Austin, I'm sure you can tell us where the reverse osmosis filter is placed in the water treatment cycle." Snickers from the rest of the class. Busted. Again.

Half an hour, and one torturously extracted diagram of the reverse osmosis system later, someone rapped on the doorway of the classroom. Miss Katy broke into a grin when she saw who it was. Austin turned to see.

"Welcome back, General", Katy announced. "Is this a social call?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid", Sole replied, and a chorus of disappointed groans greeted the news. "I'm here because I need your help, Austin."

"What?! Really?", Austin enthused. The General nodded, lifting his eyebrows in inquiry at Katy. Austin stared pleadingly at her.

Katy made playful shoo-ing motions. "Go, before you rupture something."

"Yes!", Austin crowed exuberantly, and ran out the door.

Austin dodged around the General as they walked, peppering him with questions. "Whataya need me to do? Are we going outside? Into the abandoned section of the Vault? Molerat hunting?"

"None of the above", Sole explained as they descended to the clinic. "Remember when you got bit by the molerat, and we had to find the cure in the abandoned part of the Vault? " 

Austin nodded. "Kinda. I was really out of it."

"There's a young woman who's really sick, and Curie thinks she and a friend of mine can make more of that cure, but we need you to give some blood", the General explained.

"I hate needles", Austin griped.

"Then your'e in luck. This is a proper IV blood donation. We'll need at least a pint." Austin paled at the news.

They were at the clinic door. "Do I have to?", Austin inquired quietly.

The General regarded him honestly. "I wouldn't ask you unless we thought it would work. But no, no one is going to force you to do it." Austin saw Dr. Forsythe, Curie, and a beautiful blonde lady he'd never seen before in the treatment room, intent on a girl lying on the bed, examining x-rays, checking medical monitors. Piper Wright sat on a gurney, her red leather coat draped over a chair, shirt mostly off as Rachel stiched up her shoulder. Piper never took her eyes off the girl in the treatment room.

Unzipping and rolling up his sleeve, Austin made his decision. "Let's do it." He looked up at his idol. "For the Commonwealth", Austin said seriously.

"For the Commonwealth", Sole replied just as seriously.


	19. Creature Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy makes a decision

Angela was numb with fatigue. Perched on a lab stool, she rested her head on folded arms, half draped over the gurney in the middle of the room. Piper tapped her on the shoulder. "Ich bin tot. Geh weq", Angela warned.

Leaning casually against the clinic doorway, Curie translated for Piper. "Madame Zeigler, she informs you she is very tired."

"I kinda figured. How does honest to god coffee and a hot shower sound?"

Angela lifted her head, peering at Piper. “That sounds like heaven.”

Piper nodded at the doorway. “Follow me.” Angela wearily stood, and slumped along behind the reporter. “Mein Gott", she thought to herself, “I haven't been this exhausted since interning.” Piper led her to a communal shower room. A wheeled chrome rack held a supply of laundered white towels that had worn somewhat thin through decades of use. Angela was slightly surprised to see both of the other women join her in disrobing. Clothing was tossed into a nearby laundry bag. 

“What?”, Piper said smugly. “Did you think I was going to pass on a hot shower? Not happening.” Curie padded ahead of them to the showers with a cheeky grin. “Cleanliness, eet is next to godliness, yes?” Almost in spite of herself, Angela chuckled.

The hot water was glorious. It cascaded over Angela, sluicing away almost a weeks accumulation of sweat and grime. The air thickened with pale wisps of steam. Angela scrubbed, applying soap liberally, revelling in the sensation as it glided over her skin. A gentle tap on her shoulder brought Angela out of her reverie. 

Piper, her raven hair plastered to her scalp, held up a washcloth and her own bar of soap. “I’ll do your back if you’ll do mine", she offered. Angela hesitated. Piper saw and grinned. “Don’t worry, I don’t have wicked intentions. I used to help scrub Nat down when she was little.”

“Zen you will have no objections while I scrub your back”, Curie announced over Piper’s shoulder. “In return, Madame Ziegler can scrub mine.” Angela surrendered to the inevitable with a grin.

Almost an hour later (and after Angela had inadvertently seen Piper and Curie sneak a moderately intimate kiss that made her blush), the three women were seated in the suite given to General Stark in the wake of the molerat incident. Coffee had been forgone in place of reconstituted powdered orange juice. Wrapped in towels, Angela, Piper, and Curie chatted while they waited for their cleaned clothes to be returned to them. Curie sat cross-legged near the head of the queen size bed, and Piper lounged in an easy chair she dragged from a corner of the room. That left Angela to sit at the foot of the bed.

“… Atom, he reveals himself! “, Piper intoned dramatically as she told the story of her induction into the cult. “And they bought it! You’re looking at a full-fledged initiate of the Children of Atom”, she bragged.

Angela attempted to stifle a yawn, and failed. Curie delicately nudged Piper's knee with her big toe. “I think ze good doctor has had a most trying day, yes? We should let her sleep.” Piper rose and rummaged through the chest of drawers, pulling out some old Vault-Tec t-shirts, putting one on and tossed the others to Angela and Curie. “I’m gonna go keep an eye on Nat. You two can fight over the bed.” More rummaging produced a pair of track pants. “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do”, Piper teased. Colour rose in Curie's cheeks.

Piper let herself out as Angela and Curie prepared for bed, turning out the room lights as she went. “Do you mind if I am the little spoon?”, Curie asked innocently. Angela was already asleep. Curie smiled softly, snugged into the covers, and turned out the bedside lamp.

A chime sounded. Angela grumbled and rolled over. The chime rang again, and a woman’s pleasant voice announced it was time to begin the day. Angela mostly ignored the short litany of work assignments that followed. It was then she realised that Curie had snuggled close during the night, one arm draped in comforting if unintentional intimacy across Angela’s chest.

The room’s door slid up with a hydraulic hiss, and the General walked in, arms laden with folded blue clothing. Angela shifted with mild resignation, and Curie snuggled closer, holding her a bit tighter, mumbling affectionate protestations in her sleep.

“Your clothing and armor is being given a thorough steam-cleaning, just in case. Gwen sent these to tide you over until that’s finished”, Stark explained. Angela nodded, understanding and approving. A potentially lethal virus would be a plague in the closed ecology of the vault. Angela gently extricated herself from Curie's sleepy embrace, and slipped out of the bed, padding across the floor on bare feet to lift one of what proved to be a form-fitting jumpsuit. A bright yellow ‘81' adorned the back. The General politely averted his gaze while Angela got dressed. 

Curie rolled over and stood up, and crossed to Stark, standing on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. “Bon-jour, cherie", she greeted him sleepily. She shook out the vault suit, sighing in mild annoyance. “As always, not my preferred way of dressing”, and slipped into it. Angela’s curiosity was piqued.

“The coveralls seem quite serviceable", Angela observed as the trio made their way to the cafeteria for breakfast.

“They are quite suitable for the intended purpose", Curie remarked as they joined the service line. “I find them objectionable because they remind me of my past, and the research activities I undertook. I am not proud of those times, in light of all I have learned about humanity, and being human, thanks to cher Nathan.”

The General made a wry face. “Ugh.” Angela quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t particularly like my given name. Always thought it sounded stuffy and formal. I prefer ‘Nate'. Sounds friendlier.” Trays filled, they found Piper seated at a table with Austin. Nate greeted her with a kiss, which was returned with interest.

Angela tasted the scrambled eggs. After the past few days, they were quite acceptable. “You seem to have an…unconventional…romantic arrangement.” Curie blushed delicately. “You don’t know the half of it”, Piper grinned. Angela glanced at Nate.

“Life is short enough as it is in the Commonwealth, and even shorter in the Wasteland. Why waste time with regrets? As long as you’re honest with everyone involved, and respect each other, who says you only have to love just one person at a time?”, he mused. Angela paused, considering. 

“Are you restricting your definition to hetronormative sexuality?”, Angela inquired.

“Nope. You love who you love. Man, woman, or other.” The General paused. “Except for super-mutants. Those poor bastards.”

Angela was slightly confused. “What is a ‘super-mutant’?” Sitting next to Piper, Austin was still and very quiet. This was the first time he hadn’t been chased off when subjects like sex or mutants came up, and he had no intention of blowing this chance!

Piper was about to launch into her opinion of super-mutants, but Curie spoke first. “Super-mutants are the result of human exposure to the FEV complex. As they take on the physical appearance and abilities of a fully expressed super-mutant, the subjects lose primary and secondary sexual characteristics, and are rendered sterile.”

“They also become moronic rage-fueled killing machines”, Piper dryly observed. “The oldest ones also tend to be the biggest. And meanest.”

“Austin Engle! Are you making a pest of yourself again?”, an older woman demanded as she sat at a table nearby.

“Not at all, Doctor Penske”, Nate called good-naturedly. “We're just eating breakfast and chatting. Austin is on his best behavior.” Angela, Piper, and Curie all found it wise to conceal their smiles behind coffee mugs.

“Good morning, General", an attractive young woman said as she walked by on her way to find a seat. “Austin, be on time for class, please.”

“Morning, Kate.”, “Good morning, Miss Katy", Nate and Austin said together. Angela detected a slight sway in the young woman’s pace. She gasped at the General. “Really?!”, she demanded. You could have knocked Austin over with a feather.

“Nate’s been making up for two hundred years lost time", Piper quietly and cheerfully mocked. Curie's cheeks colored as Nate sipped his coffee in wise silence. Angela shook her head, baffled and somewhat amused. “Nicht zu fassen", she muttered.

A thought occurred to her as facts lined up. “One moment. You are telling me you are over two hundred years old?”, Angela asked.

“Two hundred and forty odd, if the math works out”, Nate said around the last bite of his scrambled eggs. “I spent most of it in cryogenic suspension in a Vault. I’ve only been out and active again for about six months, and spending a lot of that time helping the Minutemen rebuild a functioning society.”

“That’s when he’s not trying to find out who kidnapped his son", Piper said as she collected the trays.

“Your child was abducted?!” Angela was outraged. 

“Shaun was…taken…while I was trapped in the cryo pod.” Stark paused, his face clouded. “Whoever kidnapped him murdered my wife at the same time. After he took my son, Nora's killer looked into my pod and called me the ‘backup’. The killer and his team also killed everyone else in Vault 111 by tampering with the cryo-pod power supply.”

Angela put her coffee cup on the table with a practiced calm. Piper caught the glint of determination in Angela's eye. ‘Uh-oh, shit's about to get real’, she thought to herself.

“Herr Stark, General, what you describe to me is an intolerable criminal act. Both my physician’s oath and my oath to Overwatch demand that I assist you in any method I deem necessary.” Angela paused. “I hereby submit myself to your command.”

The General reached across the table and shook her hand. “Welcome aboard, Surgeon General.”


	20. Ch-ch-changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeds are planted

“Hey, sis.”

Piper Wright whirled around in surprise, the collected cafeteria trays clattering to the table. “Nat, what are you doing up? Why are you out of the clinic?!”

Nat shrugged. Someone had supplied her with a child’s vault suit. “Doc Forsythe said I was better, and that he might need the bed space, so he sent me to get some breakfast. Hey, Austin.” 

“I guess the stuff they made out of my blood worked, huh?” Austin enthused.

Nat somehow managed to look intrigued and mildly offended at the same time. “I have your blood in me? That’s so gross.”

“Not half as gross as the molerats in the hidden vault! That’s how I got sick. One of ‘em bit me. The General killed all the molerats and found the cure that Curie made years ago, and he gave it to me when he might have needed it, isn’t that cool?”

“You got bit by a molerat?! Eeeeew!” Nat giggled.

“Blue? Is this normal?”, Piper asked, looking honestly baffled.

“Why are you asking me?”

“You were a parent!”

“Yeah, two hundred years ago, for all of about six months.” Sole looked at the others around the table for help. Angela was the one to speak up.

“Don’t be overly concerned, Piper”, she counciled. “This is normal adolescent behavior.”

“So, are you going to introduce us, Austin?”, a dark haired girl about Nat’s age demanded.

“Erin! Cool! Meet Nat. She’s from Diamond City. The stuff in my blood saved her when she got sick.” Erin’s demeanor changed instantly. “Really?”, was her breathless query, adolescent jealousy replaced by curiosity. The three youngsters started chatting, comparing life in a Vault to life in the Commonwealth. Piper turned back to her friends at the table.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Offhand, I would say zat Mademoiselle Natalie has become a goodwill ambassador”, Curie said with smile. Finished with breakfast, Nate and Piper departed to speak with the overseer. Angela sat for a moment, smiling gently. Curie watched vault dwellers come and go from the cafeteria, waiting for Angela to speak.

“I was quite impressed with your work yesterday. Highly competent, rapid without being rushed, while preserving most of young Herr Engill's blood draw for later synthesis.” Curie grinned at the compliment. “Merci. After two hundred years of practical experience, I like to think zat I have mastered most laboratory techniques.”

“Another bi-centarian,” Angela noted. “Do you suppose that is part of why you and the General have the relationship you do?”

Curie tilted her head to one side slightly, a fingertip on her chin, considering. “Zat is certainly a worthy hypothesis.” Angela rose, motioning Curie to follow. A few moments later, Angela and Curie entered Vault 81's clinic. Doctor Jacob Forsythe and Rachel looked up from their work.

“Good morning, Curie, Doctor Zeigler. That was some fine work yesterday. I’ve got to say it’s opened up some incredibly intriguing lines of research.” 

“Actually, that’s why I’ve come to talk to you”, Angela said. “I can’t recommend highly enough that we have to immediately inoculate the entire vault to prevent the spread of the flu virus young Miss Wright contracted.”

“I concur", Curie nodded.

“Then we are all in agreement”, Doctor Forsythe said. “Rachel and I were just discussing the most effective plan for a rapid synthesis and vault-wide distribution of the vaccine.”

Angela paused for a moment. “We need to synthesize enough vaccine to start a general inoculation, not just of Vault 81, but Diamond City and the wider Commonwealth, starting with traders like the one I saw when I arrived yesterday. Make it mandatory if they want to barter here.”

Forsythe nodded. “That’s inspired", Rachel said approvingly. “We'll inform Overseer MacNamara, and begin immediately.”

-*-*-

Nat had been the center of attention when Austin and Erin took her to class with them which is where Piper found her early in the afternoon. Katy was flustered, trying to keep discipline in her class while encouraging interaction. Nat revelled in sharing various accounts of synth infiltration, super mutant battles, and raider habits that Austin's classmates found luridly fascinating. “C'mon, kiddo, we're burning daylight.”

“Piper, I wanna write an article for the Publick! About growing up in a Vault.” Piper could have burst with pride, and managed to silence the part of her panicking about her little sister getting into her dangerous line of work.

“That… sounds like pretty good idea to me, kiddo. But I get to edit it.”

“Deal!” Nat hugged Piper, then Austin and Erin in turn. “I’m gonna come back real soon, and interview you guys. I gotta go now. Piper, are they gonna let me keep the vault suit? I think it’s pretty cool.”

“I think it’s a fair trade", Piper said. “They incinerated your old clothes just in case.”

“That’s okay. I was starting to get too big for ‘em anyway", Nat observed. “Can we go to Fallon’s when we get home?”

Piper grinned. “You bet.”

Piper and Nat found Blue at the Vault commissary, ready for the road and looking serious. 

“Blue, what’s going on?”

“Piper, I know how much you worry about Nat. It’s not an easy world outside the gate, and I think, I hope, you’ll agree it’s time Nat started learning about firearms. About how to defend herself.”

Piper swallowed hard, the part of her that worried about Nat screaming internally. “You’re right.”

“Excuse me?” Stark was astounded. He'd prepared a logical, rational debate on the subject, which Piper had just thrown into disarray. Nat could only stare in shock.

“But something Old World like you carry, and not a hand cannon. Something light, not too much kick, and common ammo, okay?”, Piper pointed out. The General nodded.

“I think we can reach an agreement.”

The Vault 81 commissary proved to have an old .22 target pistol in decent repair. Blue haggled with Alexis, and got an extra magazine, belt holster, a hundred rounds of ammunition in exchange for water pump parts. 

Nate went to one knee so he could look Piper’s sister evenly in the eye, removing the mirrored patrolman’s glasses that normally concealed his eyes. “Owning a gun, using a gun, is a responsibility, and it’s not a casual one. There are two rules you have to observe, to live by, you got me?” Nat stared, riveted. “The first rule is: Until you confirm otherwise, every gun is to be treated as if it’s loaded. The second rule is: Never point a gun at something you do not intend to utterly destroy forever.” Nate handed her the pistol in it’s holster. She looked at him, lower lip trembling.

“What is it like to shoot someone?” A whisper.

“It’s the most terrible thing in the world.”

“But you shoot people all the time!”

Blue eyes, deep and storm tossed as the waters of Boston Harbour, gazed back at Nat. She shivered at the honesty in that gaze. “I hate it, every single time I pull the trigger. Two hundred years ago, I was a soldier. I fought in Alaska, I fought in China, and God help me, now I’m fighting in the ruins of what used to be my home. And if I could end it forever tomorrow, I’d never touch a gun again for the rest of my life. You understand me? A gun is never the first answer.”

“Blue, I… I didn’t know--", Piper stuttered.

“From your lips to God's ear, General.” “Mais oui.” Stark and Piper looked up to see Angela and Curie standing nearby. Angela was dressed in her unique power armor, while Curie had played mix and match, wearing a Red Rocket shirt and road leathers over her vault suit. The Sole Survivor stood, patted Nat on the shoulder, then briefly embraced Piper. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything, soon”, he said quietly. He reached out towards Curie, and she stepped to join their embrace. They stood apart after a moment.

“Let’s get Nat home”, Stark said. Piper nodded, hastily wiping at the corner of her eye. Curie squeezed her free hand. “Nat, you do not touch that firearm unless I specifically instruct you to do so. And until you’re back in Diamond City, you walk in the middle of us.” The young woman nodded.

It was mid afternoon when they stepped out into the crisp spring light. Angela glanced at the General as he consulted his Pip-boy. She wondered for a moment what Winston would have thought of the device. “How many functions does your wrist computer support?”

Nate shrugged. “A bunch, most of them I ignore. Mapping software and memos are the ones I use most often, along with the neural heads up tactical display, but it picks up radio channels, plays back holotapes, and has a calendar and watch built in.”

“Ah. Out of curiosity, what is today’s date?”, Angela inquired.

Stark glanced at his Pip-boy again. “Friday, April the thirteenth, twenty-two eighty-eight.”

“And what a glorious day it is too! How ya doin’? Doc Weathers the name, healing’s my game.”  
Annoyed, Piper suppressed a groan. Curie nibbled a knuckle and looked away awkwardly. “Oh Christ, not this guy again", muttered the General. Angela looked the new arrival up and down skeptically. 

Coolly, Angela asked “You expect us to believe that you are a medical professional?”

“I certainly am, toots. A proud graduate of Ya Wanna Do Business or Not, sooma coom loudy. If you’re sick, beat up, hooked on junk, or glowin' in the dark from too many rads, I’m the one whose gonna make it all better. ‘Course for ‘special patients', I’m willing to do house calls and use my bedside manner, if ya know what I mean”, Weathers smirked at Angela, eyeing her like a starving man eyeing a buffet.

Angela stared at the balding, lab coat wearing man with the pencil moustaché. “As a twenty-year combat medic, I wouldn’t let you suture a pillow, let alone lance an abscess. You’re filthy, I expect your instruments haven’t even been sterilized, and your general demeanor is lewd and untrustworthy.”

“So that’s a no on the physical exam, I take it?", Weathers leered.

They were passing the ruined diner by the lake before anyone spoke. “That was one hell of a right cross, Angel”, Piper commented. 

“First law of the combat medic", Angela intoned, straight faced. “Do no harm, but take no shiesse.” Stark's shoulders hunched as he tried to not burst out laughing, gave up, and soon all four adults were leaning against a building, or against each other as they whooped with laughter. Curie was actually crying with laughter. “What is wrong with me?”, she howled, wiping at the steaming tears. “Am I defective?”

Angela sobered slightly, still giddy. Piper and Nate chuckled as they got a hold of themselves. “No, dear Curie", Angela said as she wiped away a tear of her own before briefly hugging the confused synth. “No, it means you’re only human.”

Curie looked at Piper and Nate, then lifted her arms in hesitant anticipation. “Yahoo?”

“Definitely yahoo!”, Piper opined. 

“Yahoo, for sure”, agreed Nate. “Welcome to the monkey tribe, minette.”

“YAHOO!!”, Curie shouted, reaching for heaven, then energetically embraced her loves. When she released Nate and Piper, Curie turned and looked at Angela, arms open in an invitation, one readily accepted. “Yahoo", Curie said softly into Mercy's ear. “Sehr gut", Angela replied.

Tension relieved, they resumed the march to Diamond City. One raider popped their head up over a window sill, and decided the odds weren’t worth it.

“Damn, I could have used a medic like you in Alaska in the 108th”, Nate observed. “Private Tercorrian was okay as far as his skills went, but you could see PTSD was starting to get to him.” The great gate of Diamond City was already up, the way inside open.

As they passed under the arch, a solemn Danny Sullivan greeted them. “You’re just in time. The mayor…”, he trailed off.

Piper shot a look at the General. “Oh shit! The presses! McDonough is going after the paper! My paper!” Now the sounds of an excited crowd could just be heard. Piper sprinted ahead, Nat close on her heels. Nate passed them on the stairs, taking the steps three at a time. Angela and Curie brought up the rear.

Mayor McDonough stood on the meagre platform of Nat’s soapbox, unaware of the irony. “… For too long, we have tolerated the rabble-rousing of Piper Wright and her scurrilous rag, printing nothing but libel and lies! It’s time to melt this infernal machine down, and send Piper to live in Goodneighbor with the rest of the degenerates!”

“McDonough! You shit!”, Piper raged. “I’m gonna bring you down, I’m gonna--", Piper stopped abruptly as Blue leapt atop an old newspaper box, then sprang to the roof of the chapel. His footsteps boomed on the corrugated steel of the roof.

“SHUT UP!”, he thundered. The crowd which had been on the verge of a riot paused, the spell of the mayor’s speech broken by the General in full field command mode.

“If you allow this to happen, if you destroy the free press, you aren’t worth saving. You’ll be no better than raiders. Or Gunners. Diamond City is your home, and Publick Occurrences is the voice of that home, in a tradition reaching back into the founding of America. A free press is vital to the strength of a community, an informed populace it’s life blood. Without a free press, tyranny breeds in the shadows.

Piper Wright has her faults. I won’t deny that. But deceit isn’t one of them!” A pause. He had their attention now. “Piper's advocacy was responsible for getting The Wall repaired when apathy and neglect allowed a breach to be sloppily blocked with a bookcase. Publick Occurrences is where you announce your joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies; births, deaths, and marriages. Piper is who you turn to when you’re ignored or belittled by those with wealth, prestige, or influence. And the newspaper is the voice of posterity, a record that announces, that proclaims that democracy will. Not. Fall!”

The crowd roared in approval, and McDonough knew he’d been beaten. He quietly stepped down from his makeshift podium, meaning to slink away while everyone’s attention was focused on the General of the Minutemen. He pulled up short when he recognised the challenge in familiar glowing yellow eyes.

“You fucked up, McDonut", Nick drawled. “You try to pull a stunt like that again, you and I are going to have a problem. A loud one.”

“Is that threat, Mister Valentine?”, McDonough harrumphed.

Nick leaned into the mayor’s personal space and flicked some dust from the mayor’s lapel with his skeletal robotic hand. The deadly calm of Nick’s measured reply sent a chill down McDonough’s spine. “You better believe it.”


	21. Interlude One - The Lyon in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is Maxson such a jerk? Read on and find out...

Autumn, 2280

The Capitol Wasteland

The chill gusts coming out of the northwest whipped dust and debris centuries old into eddies and small vortices, providing patchy concealment for two figures as they leap-frogged past each other, moving from cover to cover. A bus shelter weathered to bare metal stood across a long abandoned parking lot from the looming bulk of a derelict Super-Duper Mart, and the two huddled out of the wind and grit for a moment, glad of the respite.

Dressed in Brotherhood of Steel field fatigues, thirteen year old Arthur Maxson gulped down a warm mouthful of purified water from his canteen. Next to him Elder Sarah Lyons, wearing a power armor liner as protection, made a quick survey of the parking lot and building, the wind playing with the wisps of blonde hair that escaped the otherwise neat bun at the back of her head. “Raiders and slavers like to use this location as a rally point for their operations. The Wanderer cleaned this placed out at least twice that I heard about, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that no-one has moved in recent—ah, there we are. Yup. Raiders are back. See, there.” She indicated a corpse on the ground near a burned out bus with the barrel of her personal laser rifle. Maxson peered over her shoulder, his keen eyes noting the corpse wore a deathclaw gauntlet.

“Why don’t we wipe them out?”

Elder Lyons shifted to let Maxson know he was crowding her. “Just the two of us? Not a sound tactical decision, Squire. This is isn’t recon and recovery, this is a practical for your Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape evaluation. And at the rate you’re going through your water, if you fail survival, you fail everything”, she admonished. Maxson felt his ears burning, and clutched his combat shotgun tightly to mask his mistake.

“Alright, there’s almost no cover between here and the river, we're downslope, hostiles near, and our allies are over the next ridge to the west. Options?”

Maxson composed himself, remembering the map and after-action reports for the area he’d spent hours memorizing. “Field evaluation of resources, recovery of same if practical, move in broken pace to next available cover, then exfiltrate downslope out of sight, moving west to cover the ridge, breaking for Megaton.”

“Codex answer. And wrong”, Sarah chided. Maxson’s ears burned again. “This is survival. We drag the stiff out of sight behind the bus, strip them of anything useful, then haul ass for Megaton. Guai and deathclaw tracks are all over the place, and I have no intention of getting eaten. Ready?” Maxson swallowed in a dry throat, nodded, and followed a second after Sarah broke cover.

The two them made short work of stripping the corpse, which yielded two skewers of squirrel on a stick, a bottle of glowing Nuka Quantum, three twelve-gauge shotgun shells, and the deathclaw gauntlet. The corpse had been shot in the head, and was missing their right index finger. “What does that mutilation tell us, Squire?”, Lyons inquired.

“That someone had a grudge against this particular raider, and they wanted proof they were dead”, Maxson answered.

“Mostly right", Elder Lyons replied. “Our dead raider was taken down by a Regulator. The missing finger is how they confirm the bounty. There’s only one Regulator I know who works this area: The Wanderer.” Maxson nodded, face neutral. The Lone Wanderer, outcast from Vault 101, was a legend. Maxson had met the Wanderer during the conflict with the Enclave over Project Purity, had even developed something akin to hero worship for them, especially after the Vault-dweller had won a place in the ranks of the Brotherhood. But when the Wanderer had turned their back on the Brotherhood to continue serving the interests of the denizens of the Capitol Wasteland, Maxson repudiated the Wanderer as dictated by the Codex. He was more than slightly annoyed that Sarah, Elder Lyons, still spoke highly of the Wanderer. “Let's go”, Lyons ordered him.

The pair ran in a combat crouch downhill to gain better cover, as the bitter wind brought the first stinging drops of rain from a long heralded storm. In minutes, the droplets had become a torrent, and unseasonal thunder boomed. The rad counter mounted on the left wrist of Sarah's power armor liner started to chirp insistently. Through the deepening gloom of the storm, Maxson spotted an old bridge abutment and pointed it out to Lyons. “Good eye", she said. “Let’s hope no hostiles have same idea.”

Over the years, various Wasteland inhabitants from yao guai to settlers to raiders had taken their turn at transforming the bridge abutment into a viable shelter, some with more success than others. The present effort had been assembled from the scraps and detritus of the previous shelters, and consisted of little more than an elevated sleeping platform with two makeshift walls to keep out the worst of the wind, surrounded by a waist high fence. A fire pit salvaged from an old car wheel held ashes long gone cold and dead, as were the skeletal remains of the most recent tenant.

Sarah and Arthur unceremoniously swept the bones aside, lit a fire using scraps and wood scavenged from the fence, and shed their sodden clothes, hanging them near the fire to dry. Sarah noted that long ago, someone had scrawled two symbols on the wall, consisting of eight radiating lines around a house and a teardrop respectively. The signs meant nothing to her, so they were ignored. A battered suitcase inside the shelter held some old clothes, a blanket, and a towel. Maxson grumbled as he donned the worn clothing while Lyons wrapped herself in the blanket. A meagre meal of Brotherhood emergency field ration bars failed to sate their hunger. Sickly green yellow lightning flickered over the wasteland. They’d heard vague reports from travellers and traders to the north of such phenomena that were not uncommon in the ‘rad storms' that plagued the Commonwealth.

The fire crackled as it consumed the dry wood, and Maxson tossed another piece of broken fence onto the coals, sending up a shower of sparks. “Basic fire safety: Don’t throw wood onto a fire; place it. The sparks give away your position, and can land on things you don’t want burned. Also, don’t stare into the fire, it compromises your night vision”, Lyons pointed out, looking past the flames at the storm.

“Do you ever think about the future?”, Maxson asked. “Of the Brotherhood, I mean", he hastily amended at her glance. The dancing firelight made the planes of her face seem ethereal, the line of her exposed throat, enticing.

“Every waking moment is devoted to seeking benefit for the Brotherhood”, came her reply. “Our numbers are few compared to other factions in the Wasteland, our technology a precious resource to be guarded. If we are to succeed, we need to preserve both--"

“That’s what I mean!’, Maxson interrupted. “The Brotherhood had greater numbers, more cohesion before your father’s expedition arrived here. The West Coast Chapter sent me here five years ago to learn, and I have. I've learned that it’s futile to expect that the random wastelanders we allow into our ranks to meet the expectations of devotion to the Brotherhood we grew up surrounded by. None of them understand our cause. We need to remain uncontaminated by mutation and subversive ideals.”

He turned to face Sarah. She’d never been more beautiful. “We need to keep the bloodlines pure, to reconcile the rift between…”, he trailed off when he saw her expression.

“Who have you been talking to?” The question he’d been apprehensive about.

Maxson took a deep breath and plunged ahead, ignoring the suspicion in Sarah's eyes. “Some of the older members told me about the Schism between your father and the Outcasts. The Brotherhood’s purpose, it’s mission, is the recovery and preservation of military technology. The Codex says nothing about sharing our discoveries or resources with savages. I’m the last scion of Maxson, and you’re the daughter of a respected Elder. If we united our bloodlines--"

Sarah chopped the air, cutting him off. “Stop right there!” The fire popped and crackled in the background. “First off, I’m your Elder. I’d be accused, rightly so, of abusing my authority if we pursued what you’re suggesting. Second, you’re my Squire, and the same argument applies. Third, I’m twice your age. It wouldn’t work.”

“Someday I’ll be Elder, the leader of the entire Brotherhood!”, he boasted. “An alliance of our lines would be unstoppable. As the heir of Maxson, I’d be in a position to amend the Codex.”

“You’d betray your honor to indulge self-gratification? That’s hardly the kind of foolish leadership the Brotherhood needs to return to”, Sarah retorted. He was stung by her words. “The Brotherhood can’t continue to ignore the inhabitants of the Wasteland. Without their continued goodwill, we’ll either starve, be left without refuge when caught in the field, or simply die out due to attrition.”

“But we can change all of that if we just bring the Outca--"

“No!”, Sarah shouted. “This discussion is ended, and you will be reprimanded for conduct unbecoming as well as subordination of an Elder.”

“This discussion is not over! I’m the Heir of Maxson, and someday I will lead a restored Brotherhood! And no matter what you say, I love you!”, he bellowed right back at her.

“You’re thirteen. You have no discipline, no self—Urk!” Sarah and Maxson both stared at the deathclaw gauntlet. He’d snatched it up and punched her in the abdomen.

Time slowed for Sarah. The blanket slipping off her shoulders took forever. She could actually feel the skin of her back tenting and tip of the longest claw ‘pop' into open air. A tiny gasp of breath would last her the rest of her life. A step backwards. Two. The tines of the gauntlet whispering past bone as she slid off them.

“You killed me, Arthur.” Not an accusation, just a simple fact. Then she toppled backwards into the chill Potomac with a small splash almost lost in the fury of the storm, the moon-white gleam of her face drifting out of sight with the current . Maxson swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. How was he going to explain Sarah's death? He dropped to squat on his heels, thinking furiously. Lyons was known to be a daring field commander, literally leading by example. She could be found at the forefront of any fight. An idea began to form. 

Combat. Elder Sarah Lyons had fallen in combat. Ambushed by raiders, she’d drawn them away from her young squire, giving her life to save the Heir of Maxson. He nodded to himself. Yes, this was exactly the kind of information that was entered and preserved by the Brotherhood Scribes who recorded the history of the Brotherhood of Steel. 

A doubt gnawed at him. Her platoon, Lyons’ Pride, would insist on avenging their fallen Paladin and Elder. He couldn’t, he wouldn't allow that to happen. Maxson decided he’d have them reassigned, ordering them individually to duties known to have a high mortality rate. They would become acceptable losses, noble sacrifices to the legend of the Heir of Maxson. The thought appealed to him, being a living legend. Legendary hero’s were unwaveringly courageous, immune to fear and pain that would render lesser men helpless. And one of the bravest, most daring acts a hero could achieve was the killing of a deathclaw, singlehanded.

He stared at the deathclaw gauntlet, still on his hand, still covered in Sarah’s blood. No, covered in *his* blood. As if by it’s own volition, it’s own will, his right hand lifted the gauntlet to his face. A quick in and out huff of breath. 

No going back.

No future but victory.

A quick, searing rip of the claws across his face, cutting his left brow, gashing his right cheek bone deep. “Ad Victoriam!”, he gasped. Squire Maxson was dead. And the legend of the Heir of Maxson was born. He struggled back into his damp Brotherhood field uniform, blood dripping into his eye and off his chin, spattering onto his uniform jacket, gripped his combat shotgun, then staggered out into the storm, bound for Megaton.


	22. Interlude One point Two - Wounded Lyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Resurection of Sarah Lyons

Autumn, 2280

The Capitol Wasteland 

The past ten days had been among the more…eventful…of Elliot Tercorrian’s life since he’d decided to leave Mothership Zeta and return to a world even more alien in the company of the Lone Wanderer. In the eight months since he made that decision, he’d been shot at, chased by necrotic radiation victims the locals called ‘ghouls', gone hungry more than once, and visited some extraordinary places with even more remarkable inhabitants. If he’d thought life in Alaska serving in the 108th was a trial, living in the Capitol Wasteland made him a candidate for sainthood.

But even with all that, he was still a doctor at his core, a healer. And his newest patient made his recent privations irrelevant. She'd literally washed up on the doorstep of Tercorrian’s employer, Dukov, who crudely commented that if she survived, the woman would be “a great piece of ass!” Not that Dukov did much more than talk about his exploits these days, spending more time recovering from his alcohol- and jet fueled benders than actual debauchery. A quiet echo in his mind whispered that his own drinking would someday lead to a similar fate.

And speaking of his ‘employer’, Dukov was sleeping off yet another night of his endless partying, which left Elliot on his own to care for the mystery woman, something he didn’t really mind. Unlike Dukov's other housemates, she made no demands of him, social or chemical. 

Easing open the door to the small room on the second floor his patient was in, Elliot crossed the room and switched on the fission battery powered lamp on the bedside table. Pulling aside the sheet and thin blanket, he inspected her wound dressing for any sign of seepage or infection. He was mildly surprised to see that she was doing remarkably well, given conditions not much better than the trenches in Alaska. ‘Maybe it’s a minor beneficial mutation that resulted from having a family that survived two hundred years of radiation exposure’, Elliot thought to himself.

A soft sound, not a whisper, not a mumble, came from the blonde head on the rough pillow. A weak flutter of his patient's right hand towards her mouth and throat indicated she was thirsty, a positive sign. Elliot wetted a folded corner of a dressing with purified water and let her suck on it. She nodded for more, which he provided in the same way. After two more such applications, she indicated she'd had enough, and attempted to speak. A faint throaty gasp. Elliot leaned close to hear her.

“If you keep staring at my tits, I’m going to break your nose.”

Elliot sat back, slightly ashamed he’d been caught. “It’s good to have goals”, he said. “That fighting spirit will help with your recovery.”

“How bad?”

Tercorrian sighed. Better get it over with. “Three very deep puncture wounds to your abdomen, one of them through-and-through. Puncture and collapse of the lower left lung. Punctured liver, punctured gall bladder, punctured kidney, puncture through both stomach walls. Aspiration of river water, and severe hypothermia, which by the way, probably kept you alive until you washed up on shore and we found you. That was ten days ago.” Her blue eyes glinted in the lamplight as she absorbed the information.

“Where?” The effort to speak was starting to exhaust the mystery woman.

“A little slice of debauchery known as ‘Dukov's Place',” Elliot told her. “Dukov seems to think you’ll be suitably grateful for your rescue.” She rolled her head on the pillow, facing away.

“Get out.” 

Elliot took the hint. As he descended the stairs, he saw Dukov was up and around, rummaging behind the bar, still wearing his silk pajamas. “So, how is our patient?”, Dukov inquired after a long swallow from a whiskey bottle.

“She’s awake, finally.” Elliot rubbed his face, feeling a headache coming on. “I know you’re not going to listen, but I’m telling you anyway: Don’t fuck with this one.”

Dukov shrugged. “One way or another, she earns her keep. Ass or caps, no free rides.” With that, Dukov wandered off in search of something to eat.

‘I’ve got to find a new job’, Elliot thought to himself, and went upstairs to his room. Dragging a scavenged footlocker and battered duffle bag from under the bed, he sorted through the contents of both, cleaning and making minor repairs as needed. Lengthening shadows told him it was late afternoon, and he realized he was hungry. 

All the rough kitchen had to offer was booze, three bottles of Nuka-cola, some noodles, and mirelurk broth. Two bottles of the cola, the noodles, and a bowl of warmed broth went on a tray. Upstairs, Elliot nudged the door to the mystery woman’s room open with his toe. He set down the tray and switched on the lamp. “You need to eat.” She rolled over, gingerly, staring at him sullenly.

“Doctor's orders?”, she husked. Elliot nodded. “Fine. I want something to wear, though.” Elliot retrieved a tank top from the dresser by the door, and helped her to sit up so she could put it on with some assistance. He pried the cap off one of the Nuka bottles and pocketed the cap, then placed the tray with the bowl of broth and cup of water on her lap. They ate in silence.

Elliot picked at his noodles. “Do you have name?” No response. “I’m Doctor Elliot Tercorrian,” he offered. 

She took a sip of broth, grimaced at the taste, regarding the blond medic sitting nearby warily. “Maybe I don’t feel like sharing it just yet. Call it need to know.” Her voice was improving with the liquids. Elliot nodded. “I can understand op-sec. It was a big thing, back in Alaska”, he replied.

She eyed him warily. “You’re ex military. Talon Company, maybe Enclave remnant?”

“Talon Company? Seriously?”, Elliot snorted. “Those idiots can’t take on anyone but junkies and unarmed settlers. I watched three of Reilly’s Rangers take out a squad of Talon twerps, and not even break a sweat.” The mystery woman chuckled, then winced. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Yeah, not a good idea to do any heavy lifting until that lung heals up,” Elliot recommended, and finished his bottle of cola. “You should rest. I’ll change that dressing in the morning, and we’ll see about getting you some fresh air. She nodded, and gently lay down again. 

*-*-*-*

Sarah was propped up on pillows, thinking. Sooner or later she was going to have to trust someone. It might as well be that medic. As if she had summoned him, the door swung open, and Dr. Tercorrian entered. He crossed to the window, peeped through the small gap in the drapes, then swept them open before opening the window. 

He professionally inspected her wounds and changed the dressing as promised, the pressed a Stimpak against her arm. “Can you put a dressing on my shoulder?”, she inquired. “Over that tattoo on your left arm, you mean", Elliot observed, tapping the winged gear and sword insignia with a finger. She nodded. “I don’t see why not. Dukov was too busy staring at your boobs to notice it I think.” Another nod, and Elliot wrapped a dressing over the tattoo. While she pulled the tank top back into place, Elliot fetched track pants and slippers from the dresser by the door. 

After some assistance to help the mystery woman finish dressing, he offered support as she made her way to the bathroom. When she emerged, slightly gray-faced with the effort of moving, she announced she wanted to see Dukov.

“I’m not going to say that’s smart,” Elliot cautioned, “but the sooner he understands that hitting on you is a bad idea, the sooner he'll leave you alone. And you need to give him a name to call you, otherwise you’ll end up being called something that I’m sure will piss you off, and then I’ll have to redo all of my needlework, and I’d rather not, okay? How does Leto sound? She was the mother of Artemis and Apollo in the old Greek myths.”

“ ‘Leto' it is,” she nodded in agreement. They looked over the railing to the lobby below. Dukov was holding court, boasting yet again to the three other women who lived in the former hotel at the moment, all dressed in lingerie or designer underwear. “He’s a pig,” Sarah/Leto observed. Elliot sighed and nodded.

*-*-*-*

“… And then, before she had a chance to change her mind, I rammed it in!”, Dukov crowed, slopping his drink on the tile floor. His three member audience hooted drunken laughter. Movement at the foot of the stair caught his attention. “Hey, ‘doktor', come and join the party. And you brought River Tits with you! Excellent! We drink toast to her speedy recovery… at least until she needs to recover from a night with me, eh?”

Sarah/Leto straightened, regaining a measure of her command posture, and walked over to Dukov. “Listen up, I might owe you my life, but that doesn’t mean you own me. I’m no whore. Lay a hand on me, you’ll pull back a bloody stump. Slip me a mickey, when I wake up, I’ll find you and feed you your own balls. Are we clear?” She stared at Dukov defiantly.

“Jesus, okay,” Dukov muttered. “I can use a new bodyguard. Besides, who’d screw an Amazon dyke like you, anyway?”

Fantasia, the longest resident of the house other than Dukov chimed in. “Better watch out, Blondie. Dukey used to be pretty fast at whipping out his piece. He’s the fastest gun in the Capitol Wasteland.” Dukov smirked at the praise. And then frowned at the subtle slight. He lifted a warning finger at Fantasia, who hid her smile behind her glass.

“You have a month to get back in shape, then you start working off what you owe me, da?”, Dukov said. Sarah/Leto nodded. “My name is Leto.” Dukov waved her and Elliot away. “You bore me, party poopers.” Elliot escorted Sarah/Leto back to her room, where she collapsed into the bed, sweat pouring off her from the effort, gratefully drinking the purified water Elliot handed her. She lay in bed, wincing as he checked her dressings. 

“Sarah. My name is Sarah,” she panted with exhaustion.

“Pleased to meet you, Sarah,” Elliot said. “I was abducted by aliens and spent two hundred years in cryo stasis.” 

“That’s not funny”, Sarah chided. 

Elliot shrugged noncommittally, and sat on the bed, Sarah shifting slightly. “I’m dead serious. I was a popsicle until one of the locals was snatched, and they stopped the, I don’t know, invasion? Anyway, I wasn’t the only one abducted. My entire squad was taken from Anchorage, experimented on. I'm the only member of the 108th left. The Zetans have been, had been, kidnapping people from Earth for about a thousand years. Eventually, I decided to come back to Earth, packed a few alien goodies, and hitched a lift the next time our friend teleported to the ship. ‘Culture Shock’ would be putting it mildly.” Elliot sighed. “I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to be doing now. Dukov is okay, but I think it’s time to go.”

Sarah/Leto punched Elliot in the hip, not exactly gently. “Idiot. You’re not pulling out until I’m ready to travel. I grew up in the Wasteland--"

“You almost died in the Wasteland”, Elliot pointed out, earning him another poke in the hip.

“—and I can use someone who knows how to stitch people back together”, Sarah/Leto continued. “You help get me back into fighting shape, we move out together. I know a few places that could use a good doctor, and most settlements are always happy to have a hired gun to keep the raiders at bay. All I need is some combat armor and a decent gun.” Elliot gazed down at her, weighing his options.

He extended his hand. “Deal. ‘Virtue Non Verbus’.”

*-*-*-*

Elliot tapped on Sarah/Leto’s door, then entered. Morning light filtered through the widow, and Sarah was tentatively testing her limits, stretching to the limit her injuries would let her. Closing the door behind himself, Elliot held up a cylinder filled with a viscous gel that glowed a soft blue. 

“Do I want to know?”, Sarah asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Adapted alien biogel.” Elliot hefted the cylinder. “It has a few short-term side effects, but it heals better than anything I know of.”

Sarah held out her arm. “Uh-uh”, Elliot said with a small grin as he twisted the cylinder open. “You drink it.” Sarah grimaced, and swallowed the contents in a few gulps. “That was disgusting", she gasped. 

“How do you feel?”

Sarah took a breath. Then a deep breath. Incredulous, she hiked up her shirt and peeled back the wound dressing. The deathclaw punctures and Elliot's incisions were little more than faint scars. There was no pain. Sarah looked at Elliot, stunned, and swept an errant wisp of hair off her face over her ear.“What the hell?”

Elliot leaned against the dresser. “I never really understood it completely myself. All I know is that the Zetans had access to medical technology that makes ours look like bear-skins and bone rattles.” 

Wanting to see how far she could push herself, Sarah started a series of calisthenics that flowed into a power armor kata. She noticed Elliot was deliberately not looking at her, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t pulled her tank top back into place.

Elliot beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll get you some proper clothes”, he said as he slipped out the door.


	23. Interlude One point Three - Thrown to the Lyons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah takes up a lucrative hobby

Spring 2281

The Capitol Wasteland 

Sonora Cruz, leader of the Regulators, was pissed. 

She and half a dozen of her crew had been locked down in their headquarters for the past three days by a deathclaw that had been attracted by the small herd of brahmin they kept on hand for meat and hides. Seven head were now three, and the ‘heroic' Brotherhood of Steel had pointedly ignored their calls for aid.

Hoskins, watching from the shuttered window swore creatively. 

“Now what?”, Cruz demanded.

“A pair of goddamn yao guai just decided to crash Mr. Deathclaw's garden party. Just what we godda--"

The thunderous *boom* of a heavy caliber hunting rifle silenced everyone in the room. A second report boomed, and the Regulators threw themselves to the floor, scrambling for cover.

*-*-*-*-*

Sarah Lyons shifted her position slightly, taking careful aim while the alpha deathclaw below bellowed in rage and challenge. The mated pair of yao guai had fallen to well-placed head shots, but the alpha was capable of scaling the bluff that overlooked the Regulator HQ. A different tactic was called for. Without taking her eye off the target, Sarah swapped the hunting round magazine for armor piercing rounds, closed the bolt, and calmly shot the deathclaw in the left knee as it began its charge...

*-*-*-*-*

Sonora Cruz looked up, and called for a head count. When all the Regulators announced they were intact, she clambered to her feet, looking for bullet holes in the walls. Nothing. Hoskins chanced a look out the window. “I’ll be goddamned…”

“What is it?”, Cruz demanded.

Normally taciturn Hoskins actually smirked. “You’ll see in a moment.”

Someone politely knocked on the door. The Regulators present all looked at Cruz. The knock sounded again. Cruz swept back her duster, one hand on her inherited .44 magnum, and opened the door. The combat armor clad individual entered at the implied invitation, their features concealed by a ragged canvas wastelander’s hood, road goggles, and respirator. A modified and customised hunting rifle was slung over her shoulder. The words ‘Miles Ruinam' had been cut into the rifle’s wooden stock, and highlighted with white paint. “By all means, come on in", Cruz said with distinct civility.

A woman’s voice came from behind the respirator, blurred and dull. “I took care of your pest problem. Cleanup is extra.”

‘Oh, I like her', Cruz thought to herself. Aloud, she replied “It’s only polite to offer you a drink to say thank you for that”, waving her guest to be seated at the common room table. The hooded guest paused, weighing options, eyes unreadable behind the goggles.

“Alright. But we speak in private.”

Cruz flicked her eyes at Hoskins, who understood. “Alright, let’s move out, people. You have assignments. No need to wait around with our thumbs up our asses.” Five minutes later, the building was empty except for Cruz and her guest. While the hooded woman seated herself at the long common room table, Cruz retrieved two bottles of beer from the swamp cooler in the corner, opened them, and set one on the table in front of her guest, pointedly taking a sip of her own. A long moments silence passed. Without a word, the woman swept back her hood revealing blond hair caught in a neat bun, slid the goggles onto her forehead, and removed the respirator. Sonora locked eyes with her as the woman lifted the offered beer and took a sip. “I’ll be damned. You’re supposed to be dead.”

Sarah blinked, slowly. “I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about.” After a moment, Sonora nodded. “Alright, let’s cut to the chase.”

The blonde took another sip of the chilled beer, and nodded at Sonora. “Direct, to the point. My old information was on the money. Here’s what I’m offering: I join your crew, take my assignments no questions asked. In return…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “In return, if you get a legitimate bounty on members of the Brotherhood of Steel, I have sole claim.”

Sonora thrust out her hand. “Deal.” The two women shook hands, closing the bargain. Sonora rose, crossed the room to the battered filing cabinets under the stairs, and withdrew a half-sheet of paper, long crumpled into softness by repeated use, and handed it to Sarah. “Your first bounty.”

Sarah studied the paper for a long moment, then looked up at Sonora with a predatory smirk. “Piece of cake.”

*-*-*-*-*

Dukov lounged in a moth-eaten armchair, a hand rolled cigarette dangling in the fingertips of his right hand. Boredom was becoming a serious problem. Debauchery had become habitual, ‘retirement' tedious. Apathetic, he glanced at his half-consumed smoke, and stubbed it out. Two moderate swallows finished his bottle of beer, and he idly wondered whether it was day or night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside, or saw the sun. Lamplight glimmered off the subtly oiled planes of the object that he'd laid reverently on the table before himself: his faithful companion, a customised 10mm pistol. The notches he'd filed in the grip to keep track of his kills when he was younger now seemed petty, pointless.

The front door swung open to admit yet another uninvited wasteland denizen, then closed with a thud, with a brief sweep of radiance that told him it was morning. Dukov heard a muted gasp of recognition from Fantasia, then a hushed conversation. The faint whisper of silk as Fantasia hurried up the stairs.

Dukov looked up as the intruder stopped three steps away from him. “Oh, it’s you, River Tits”, he grunted, his accent thicker than Sarah/Leto could ever remember hearing. “Ve're done! You paid out, and I owe you nothink, so vhy are you here?!” He glanced at his pistol on the table. Sarah almost smirked, and shifted just enough to bring the twin barrels of the sawed-off ‘whippet gun’ in her left hand to point square at Dukov's chest. He scowled at her.

“How do you like my new coat?”, Sarah asked innocently. Dukov paled slightly when he recognised the Regulators duster covering his former bodyguard’s combat armor. “Ah”, was all he said.

“I saved your life while I worked for you. Four times that you know about”, Sarah/Leto said casually. “Nine times that you don’t. You owe me your life. A debt I’m here to collect.” Dukov slowly and deliberately raised his hands in surrender, and braced himself, staring his former bodyguard in the face. “You might have been fast with a gun, once upon a time, but you were always slow to catch on”, Sarah/Leto said. “We’re going to make a trade: I take your finger, you disappear.”

Dukov scowled at her. “How is this so deeferent from everyday Regulator contract? I end up dead, you end up with caps. Ees no-win situation for me.”

“Dukov, you’re an idiot. You drink too much, you’ve gotten slow, and your hands have started to shake. If you go for the gun, you die. And I collect my bounty. Or we do it my way, you drop out of sight, you live, and I still collect my bounty. I hear Point Lookout is the place to be these days. Choose. Now.” Sarah's voice was cold with calculation.

“Okay, River Tits, you vin.” Dukov reached for the table with his left hand.

“Sweep the iron onto the floor to the left with that hand, and put your trigger finger on the table, fist against the edge”, Sarah said as she pulled a heavy combat knife from behind her back. Dukov sighed, annoyed that his ill-conceived plan had been predictable, and followed Sarah’s order. The combat knife flashed in the candlelight, and a flash of pain from his hand as his finger was severed cleanly with one stroke. Dukov cursed and yanked his hand back, waddling up his shirt and jamming his maimed right hand into the bunched material. Sarah sheathed the combat knife, reached into her duster pocket, and slid a Stimpak onto the table, then picked up the severed digit with a scrap of cloth. “Fantasia and the others are headed to Rivet City as soon as I leave”, Sarah explained as Dukov snatched up the Stimpak and injected himself. “Pack the basics and head down river to the ‘Duchess Gambit’ dock. Nadine will get you to Point Lookout”, Sarah continued as she circled the table to retrieve Dukov's pistol from the floor.

Dukov glared at Sarah. “You always vere a bitch, River Tits.”

Sarah shrugged. “You get what you pay for.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Elliott Tercorrian looked up from his battered novel as Sarah emerged from Dukov’s Place. “So, how did it go?”, he inquired.

“About as well as expected”, came the reply. “Ready to head back to Canterbury Commons?”

“Be it ever so crumbled, there’s no place like home”, Tercorrian quipped.

“Smart ass.”


	25. Interlude One point Four - Lyons on the Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a long strange trip it's been

Summer 2084

The Capitol Wasteland 

No-one noticed when the stranger slipped into the ragged band of refugees that had camped overnight in the ruins of Greyditch. Strays had been joining the slow moving column for the past four days, and resources were being stretched thin, but the walled city of Megaton and hoped-for safety was now just a four hour hike away. 

Harkness walked through the camp, occasionally stepping over pegged-out guylines strung to tarps and crude tents erected to keep the worst of the weather off, counting heads. When he had been head of security for Rivet City, he'd memorized the face of every resident. Now he shepherded the battered, burned, and wounded survivors of the Scourge of Rivet City towards Megaton, and the woman in dark shapeless rags toting a battered backpack was utterly unfamiliar to him. He watched her as she methodically went from camp to camp, distributing water from a scavenged five gallon bucket she lugged. Trailing behind her, he randomly selected people to chat to, checking that the water being shared wasn’t contaminated. All too soon, the bucket was empty, and the woman returned to her starting point, a campfire where a crude water filtration rig had been set up. She didn’t so much sit as collapse cross-legged onto the ground, trying alternately to wipe away tears that streamed silently down her cheeks and rest her head with her left hand, while her power-fist clad right hand ground gravel into powder on the road. Harkness slipped close enough to her to hear her muttering. “…isn’t how our missions are carried out. Not like this! Fuck me fuck me fuck me, what do I goddamn do?! There are so many of them! Oh god!” A fresh round of barely contained sobbing shook her shoulders. Harkness made his decision, and approached the woman.

“Put that fire out and pack up. We move out in twenty minutes. Start spreading the word”, Harkness ordered. The woman clambered to her feet, hastily wiping away the fresh tears. “Yessir!”, she answered reflexively as she set about extinguishing the fire. 

‘Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!’, Veronica Santangelo chided herself silently as the camp security man walked away. She was pretty sure she'd just given herself away. Wonderful. Six months of hard travel to make it to Capitol Wasteland and a fresh start, and she'd blown it. With a self-recriminatory sigh and sniffle, Veronica set about telling the refugees it was time to move out.

Two hours later, and the ragged column was starting to snake past a ruined farmhouse. Veronica marched on the left flank, near the middle of the group, eyes alert for raiders. She’d thought she’d spotted the occasional hint of movement about a quarter mile away uphill, keeping pace with them. 

“You spotted them too", the voice of the camp security man made Veronica flinch. Dammit, he’d snuck on her. It was creepy the way he moved so quietly. “I'm Harkness. And if you are who and what I think you are, we're going to have a problem.” Veronica stopped in her tracks, glaring at the dark auburn haired guard. 

“So just who am I supposed to be?”, Veronica demanded. Harkness sidestepped a refugee as they staggered by, leaning closer to her.

“Nobody special. Just a Brotherhood infiltrator who’s about to meet a tragic accident”, Harkness said quietly, not wishing to spark a panic by being overheard.

Veronica gazed at Harkness, weary beyond measure. Silently, she slipped her right hand out of her power-fist, tossing it to land with a thud at his feet. “Fucking do it. Just make it quick”

“You don’t deny being Brotherhood?”, Harkness asked.

A quiet bark of deeply bitter laughter. “Those fuckers threw me out. And they tried to kill me.” Veronica sank to squat on her heels. “I risked my life for them, and in the end, they quoted the Codex chapter and verse while they did their best to kill me and the only real friend I ever had. Six kicked their asses, and I wound up in the Followers of the Apocalypse. For a while. Until word I was Brotherhood got out, and was ‘encouraged’ to move along.” She wiped away a bitter tear. “So yeah, go ahead. Finish the fucking job.”

Harkness slung his rifle, picked up the power-fist, and tossed it to Veronica. “Get moving. It’s still two hours to Megaton.”

*-*-*-*-*

Knight Sergeant Vasquez grinned behind the helmet of his T-50 power armor as he carefully took aim at the head of his target, the former chief of Rivet City security, downhill from the ridge Vasquez stood on. The synth bastard would be dead before the report of Vasquez' sniper rifle reached the refugee scum. One quick breath in, slowly out and – 

Pain exploded in Vasquez’ right hip. Horrific, searing, ripping pain that dropped him flat on his back, staring in disbelief at his right leg that stood there, without him, supported by the armor and cybernetic systems of his shattered suit. He was still staring as his vision darkened and he bled out.

*-*-*-*-*

Elliott Tercorrian lowered his binoculars. “Damn, that was cold-blooded even for you, Sarah. Right in the crotch.”

Sarah Lyons, one time Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel, rose from her prone sniping position on the roof of the Super-Duper Mart with a grin, and slung the heavy .55 Anti-Materiel Rifle on her shoulder. “Vasquez was an Outcast, and an arrogant prick. And he was about to shoot a refugee. He had it coming.”

“No argument he had it coming. But you shot him in the dick. That’s just wrong”, Tercorrian observed as they quit their position.

*-*-*-*-*

The refugees had scattered at the thunder of the rifle report, seeking what meagre cover they could find. When they determined only the one shot had been heard, and all were present and accounted for, the column reformed and resumed the road to Megaton, albeit at a more rapid pace. It was dusk by the time Veronica and Harkness herded the refugees within sight of the massive gates, guarded by a tottering Securitron. 

“Welcome. To. Megaton.

Please. Wait. While. Identification. And. Inspection. Is. Carried. Out. After. Which. Admission. To. The. City. Will. Be. Determined.

Thank. You.”, the robot informed them. A chorus of groaning disappointment met the announcement. Harness and the remnants of the Rivet City council set about organizing the camp for the night.

*-*-*-*-*

Veronica felt someone toe her in the ribs. She rolled over, trying to avoid them. False dawn had been painting the horizon when she’d rolled up in her blankets, and she was exhausted. Sleeping on the ground hadn’t helped. The person poked her with their boot again. “C'mon, get up. We need one more person to be part of the refugee delegation, and you’re it.”

“I’m never going to catch up on my beauty sleep at this rate”, Veronica complained as she sat up. Harkness shoved a cup of something that almost imitated coffee at her. She sipped at it, half listening to him.

“We’re meeting by the main gate in ten minutes. No weapons, which means no visible weapons. You’re eyes and ears, speak if spoken to. You know the Brotherhood, so you’re our early warning if this is a trap.” Harkness went to one knee beside her. “Look, I had to be sure you were being honest with me. You and I, well, we're not as different as you’d imagine.”

Veronica studied Harkness for a long moment as she sat wrapped in her blankets. “How do you feel about women who like women?” Harkness shrugged as he stood to leave. “I guess it depends on how you feel about people who aren’t human. Main gate, ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, Veronica stood just behind Harkness and Doctors Preston and Kaplinski, the surviving Rivet City council, such as it was. Just downhill from the main gate, four brahmin lowed in discontent under loads of scavenged radio equipment, watched by nervous mercenaries. A tall, dark-skinned man wearing sunglasses was counting out caps, and swearing creatively as he did so. He joined the line moments later, beside Veronica.

“There was a time in this Wasteland that a man’s word was his bond, and my Word was heard from Rivet City to Arefu, from Girdershade to the Republic of Dave. Now the only sound people want hear from old Three Dog the clink of caps. Disgusting. This is not how the Good Fight is supposed to go down.”

Harkness turned to look at the swarthy man. “I heard Three Dog was sitting pretty in the laps of the Brotherhood.”

“Then you heard wrong. Those armor-wearing fascists shut me down so I couldn’t warn the good folks of Rivet City what was coming their way. The Good Fight goes on, and the Brotherhood or Steel is gonna learn that Three Dog will have his day! Awoo!” Three Dog nodded to Veronica, “Ain't that right, little sister?” Unashamed, Veronica bumped fists with the displaced DJ. “Amen”, she agreed.

Entry inspection was cursory, relying mostly on written descriptions of each person gleaned from other Rivet City survivors or friends, or by having Megaton or Rivet City residents attest to the person's character and qualities. The salvaged jet engine overhead sputtered and spun to life, and the great gates of Megaton slid up and open. Inside they were greeted by a delegation of Megaton's movers and shakers, led by Sheriff Lucas Simms. Those who had caps were encouraged to rent beds at Nova's Place, visible on the far side of the crater the city was built in and around. Those without were assigned temporary billets in the common house. 

After the introductions were over, Harkness pulled Veronica aside as Three Dog led the radio laden brahmin into town. “Have a look around, get us some intelligence", he advised.

“You mean you want the local gossip”, Veronica dryly observed, arms crossed. “A lifetime as a Scribe, and you send me to find out who’s sleeping around. Fine. But I’ll need some caps.”

Harkness frowned at her as he handed over a small sack that rattled pleasantly. “Get going.” With a cheeky smile, Veronica settled her pack on her shoulders, and headed to Nova's.

*-*-*-*-*

Nova's Place turned out to be almost as luxuriously debauched as Gomorrah back in New Vegas had been, albeit on a more…intimate…scale. Veronica felt a twinge of homesickness. The suit-wearing ghoul bartender named Gob proved to be a font of information. He cheerfully informed Veronica the bar’s previous owner, one Colin Moriarty by name, had been gunned down in a duel with a local vault dweller of some repute, who owned a home on the edge of town. Nova had been a prostitute working for Moriarty, so no-one argued with her when she took over after Moriarty was dead. Nova had hired some help, and between her and the woman who owned Craterside Supply, they effectively controlled town’s economy. Veronica learned all of this for the price of two decent rum and nuka's and a bowl of squirrel jerky bits.

“You’re a new face in town.” Veronica turned to look at the woman who’d sat next to her at the bar, a striking blonde with incredible blue eyes who radiated fierce composure, dressed in a duster she wore like one used to respect from others. Gob slid two shots of whisky onto the bar in front of the woman without being asked, who downed them neat in quick succession.

“Umm, yes, new, Veronica... that is…I…", she stammered. ‘God, what’s wrong with me?’, she asked herself. ‘You’d think I was meeting Christine for the first time again.’ She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Let’s try that again. Yup, I’m new in town, fresh from the flaming wreckage of Rivet City.” The blonde regarded her quietly. Veronica’s heart hammered in her chest. “You wouldn’t know a place I could stay, other than the flophouse?”

The blonde smiled. “I'm Leto. And yeah, I have bed you can use. Follow me.” Veronica did just that, her knees trembling with every step. Soon they were at a large house perched on the rim of the crater. Leto unlocked and opened the door, inviting Veronica to enter ahead of her. The first floor was Spartan in decoration, with two banks of lockers on opposite walls, a low bookshelf beside stairs that led to the second floor, and a scavenged red couch opposite the stairs. A nook led to the small kitchen. But the most striking decoration was a .55 caliber Circle of Steel Anti-Materiel Rifle hung above the couch. A shuffle of cloth made Veronica turn, and the blood chilled in her veins. Leto had dropped her duster to the floor, revealing a winged sword and gears tattoo on her left shoulder. “Steel be with you", Leto said quietly. This was exactly what Harkness had been worried about: a Brotherhood infiltrator!

Veronica flipped the panic snaps on her pack's shoulder straps, letting it fall to the ground behind her, where she kicked it towards the kitchen, and assumed her hand to hand stance learned so long ago. Only a moment to regret not having her power-fist. Leto smirked.

“Pure Brotherhood training. I knew it”, Leto said as she adopted a similar stance. “Let’s dance.”

Feint, dodge, grapple, counter, punches and kicks were traded, and the two women threw each other into the walls and furniture. They parted, eyeing each other warily, panting from the exertion. “I might…go down…”, Veronica wheezed, her left eyebrow swelling from where Leto's boot heel had almost ended the fight with a wheel kick, “but I’m gonna kick your Brotherhood bitch ass!”

Sarah/Leto spat out a mouthful of blood. “Maxson and his Brotherhood can fuck a brahmin sideways for all I care!”

The two women straightened at the same moment, equally confused. “Aren’t you…?” “But I thought you…”, they said together. “Hold on. Truce”, Sarah declared holding out one hand, palm toward Veronica, cautiously lifting her tank top to expose the thin scars where the deathclaw gauntlet had impaled her. “Maxson was my squire, and the little shit tried to kill me when I wouldn’t sleep with him.” 

Veronica sagged, hands on knees, eyes on Sarah/Leto. “The Brotherhood of the Hidden Valley Bunker sent an entire squad of knights to murder me and Six after they threw me out. They lost.” Leto staggered into the kitchen, tripped over Veronica’s backpack, and returned carrying cold beers and a handful of Stimpaks. They compared notes, sharing bitter truths learned about the Brotherhood, and what had led both of them to Megaton.

Veronica felt a gentle hand on her knee. “Sarah. My name is Sarah. And…I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve been living with the fear that one day, Maxson would send someone to finish the job he started. All my old platoon are dead, wasted on suicide missions. I’m just tired of not being able to trust anyone.”

Veronica tenderly wiped a tear from Sarah’s cheek. “Hi, Sarah. Is the offer of the bed still open?” Sarah nodded.

Some hours later, when the rest of Megaton was waking up, Veronica turned to look at Sarah's battered face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Do you ever miss them? The Brotherhood?” Veronica’s fingers traced Sarah’s old scars.

“Not often, and never with the second shot. Get some rest.”

They heard the door downstairs open and close. “Jesus Christ! Not again! Sar..Leto! Goddammit, this is bullshit!”, Elliott bellowed as he surveyed the wreckage. The two women looked at each other, giggled, and snuggled deeper into the blankets as Tercorrian stomped up the stairs...


	27. Time and Tide Wait For No Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for Kellog is on. Angela settles in for the long haul.

(Note: Renee Jones and Gene Dandridge appear courtesy of cyndercrys. If you haven't read ‘That Wicked Feeling', you're missing out. Highly recommended.)

Morning in Diamond City. Angela Zeigler sat at the table outside the Dugout Inn, contemplating life, or more accurately, the prospect she would live out her life in a nameless alternate timeline. She was dressed casually this morning, just an old pair of jeans, and a t-shirt under a loose off the shoulder sleeveless top. While she missed her old life, the people here clearly needed her medical knowledge and expertise. The city was starting to come to life, and Angela took the opportunity to people watch over breakfast. Mopping up the last of the orange-yellow fried egg yolk with the local bread, she left her plate in the tub that would be taken inside, and wandered in the direction of the marketplace via Publick Occurances.

The General of the Minutemen, Nate Stark was holding both of Piper Wright’s hands, explaining something quietly but earnestly to her. Nearby, a large Alsatian wearing a red bandana and motorcycle goggles looked on, head tilted in what could be amusingly interpreted as puzzled comprehension. Angela was close enough now to overhear the conversation.

“I finally have a solid lead on Shawn, and I have to follow up on it", Nate explained. Piper nodded in acknowledgement, looking miserable. “It’s something I have to do, well, not exactly on my own, but I have to travel fast and light. I’m going to ask Nick along as backup, and he has some skills that will come in handy.” Piper nodded again, on the verge of tears.

“You come back to me, to us, goddamit. I almost lost Nat, I can’t lose you.” Nate nodded, kissing Piper’s knuckles. He brushed back a stray lock of Piper's raven hair. “I have every intention of coming back. My family needs me.”

“Your family? Wha-? You mean??” Piper was actually at a loss for words as Nate kissed her. 

“Yes, my family. Keep Curie out of trouble, and let Cait know what’s going on, alright?” Nate kissed Piper again, nodded to the dog who joined him at his side, and hefted his modified rifle. “I might be away as long as ten days, but I will always come home. Let’s go, Dogmeat. Nick’s waiting.” Nate marched away, heading deeper into the city. Angela let out a breath, not entirely sure she should say something, but decided she had better. As she stepped forward to speak to Piper, a diminutive copper-haired young woman laden with an overfull backpack barreled into her, almost running as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Piper looked up at the sound of the collision as Angela and the other woman simultaneously exchanged apologies, the smaller woman dodging around Angela, making a beeline for the clothing shop ‘Wicked Apparel’.

“I see you survived your encounter with Hurricane Renee", Piper remarked.

“Wo?, I mean, who?”

“Renee Jones. Caravan guard, onetime wasteland settler, and minor disaster on legs. Word on the street says she's sweet on Gene Dandridge, owner of Wicked Apparel.”

“You are the word on the street, Piper.”

“Fancy that”, Piper pretended amazement. “So, I’m guessing you saw Nate and me…you know.” At Angela's nod, Piper let out a sigh. “I know Nate’s a grown man, old world military and all that, but…I don’t like feeling helpless, watching people I care about go looking for trouble.” Piper flapped her arms against her hips in frustration.

“You mean you don’t like feeling how people who care about you feel when you do the same thing.” Piper’s temper flared as Angela’s observation hit home. “I—you…aaaaaargh! Goddamn it.” Piper sat on her front steps abruptly. “Damn it. I wanna be mad at you, but you’re right.” She leaned against the wall of her home, looking up at Angela, pleading. “What do I do?”

Angela sat beside the reporter. “You ask your friends for help.” 

Piper almost smiled. “I…don’t make lot of friends in my line of work”, she admitted. “Hell, I don’t make a lot of friends, period.”

Angela playfully tugged Piper’s cap down over her eyes. “My friends keep life interesting. You are keeping my life incredibly interesting. And speaking of interesting…”, Angela pointed at Nate hurrying along the street, the look on his face grim as he made his way to the elevator to Mayor McDonough’s office. He didn’t even glance in Piper’s direction. 

“That is not a happy General”, Piper said quietly. 

Angela nodded, watching Stark’s ascent to the Mayor's office. “Höchst unzufrieden. What does your reporter's instinct tell you?”, she asked as she returned her attention to Piper.

“Run away and hide.” Piper turned to look at Angela. “I…think I’m gonna see what Nat's up to. Inside. Behind the printing press.”

“Und ‘Vick-ed Apparhel’ ist…?”, Angela inquired hesitantly, her Swiss German accent thickening.

“Other side of the Marketplace, beside Home Plate, mostly out of the line of fire”, Piper pointed vaguely as she darted inside. Angela was already moving, hungry eyes watching as she passed.

*-*-*-*-*

It had been a slow morning for Gene Dandridge and Z0-E. At least it had been until her favorite ginger barged through the door. Gene swept a lock of her long raven hair back over her ear in unconscious flirtation as Renee shrugged out of her pack.

“Gene, you’ll never guess what I found!”, Renee crowed as she slung her pack onto the counter.

“Short Stack! Yoah ho- back!”, Gene coughed to cover her gaffe. Renee appeared not to have heard Gene's slip of the tongue, as she was preoccupied with unloading numerous articles of pre-war clothing in mostly decent shape, three large reels of sewing thread, two packs of steel needles, and a burlap sack wrapped around…something.

Impish glee shone in Renee's eyes. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands”, she instructed. Gene humored her, holding out her hands, palms up. Something heavy, unbelievably smooth and soft was laid on them… ‘It can’t be!’, Gene thought to herself, and opened her eyes. It was.

A full bolt of charmeuse silk, black as a moonless night.

“Short Stack…how…wheah did you get this?! Do you have any ideah how rayah this is?”

“You likee?”, came the cheeky reply.

Gene set the material down on her counter reverently. Then embraced the petite redhead into her chest in a bear hug that circled the shop, perilously close to the racks and displays. “Oh mah Gahd! It’s only pahfect! Ah mean, ah've read about it, and ah touched the insahd of a silk purse once when ah was a gal, but this! This is EXTRAVAGANT! How will ah evah repay you?” Renee's toes no longer reached the floorboards.

‘This is it', Renee thought to herself. ‘This is how I die: Buried in cleavage. What a way to go.’ She let out a happy little sigh.

The bell above the door chimed as someone entered. Renee's promise of immanent horrific bloody dismemberment in an eldritch tongue was muffled by Gene’s chest.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting something important”, the blonde goddess said as she paused in the doorway. Gene was certain that the heat radiating from her face could melt steel. Renee's boots thudded to the floor as Gene released her.

“Welcome to Wicked Apparel.” Gene smiled weakly in greeting.

*-*-*-*-*

Once the initial awkward introductions and explanations were out of the way, Dr. Zeigler proved very easy to get along with. The three women spent the remainder of the morning and part of the afternoon going through Gene's stock of pre-war clothing and footwear, with Angela eventually finding a cream colored tunic, a black ‘A'- line skirt Gene agreed to turn into something called a ‘pencil skirt', a vintage garter belt and stockings, and a white lab coat. Polished black leather flats completed the ensemble. Gene named a price, and caps changed hands, a rather tidy sum.

“Now that I have some office clothes, I’d like to commission a dress. And I think I see the perfect material on your counter”, Angela said. “Do you have some paper and a pencil I can use to sketch my idea?” Renee produced the requested items as if by magic from her pack. With quick economical strokes, Angela laid out her vision, then turned it to Gene for inspection. “Can you do it?”

“Where did you learn to draw like that?”, Gene inquired.

“Medical schule. Osteological study required turning in a sketchbook as mandatory course exercise.”

Gene look at the design. High collar, peekaboo neckline, flared shoulders, sleeveless, and an incredibly daring knee length panel skirt slashed to the hip, all with detailing that spoke of a far-eastern influence. Dear god, this dress was not going to turn heads, it was going to break necks. “How soon?”

“Ten days?”

“Ten days, or I’ll die trying.” Angela’s smile lit the small shop. She gathered her other purchases, and stepped out. Gene and Renee stood together watching her go.

Gene swallowed in a dry throat. “Theyah is a God, and she wahnts us to be happy.”

“Daaaaaang", was all Renee could say in agreement as they bumped fists.

(Again, many thanks to cyndercrys for allowing me to use her characters Renee and Gene. This was probably the fastest written chapter, ever, and a helluva lot of fun. Forgive me if I mauled them too badly.)


	28. Interbellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper throws a wobbly, Cait throws a party

Nat eyed her big sister dubiously. It have been three days since Blue had left the city after discovering that the man who murdered his wife and kidnapped his son had lived in Diamond City. Piper had thrown herself into working long hours as a distraction, hammering out articles on the house Robco terminal that had honestly seen it’s better days decades ago. Now the two of them were doing a detailed inventory before the next edition of the paper was to be printed. Piper sullenly stared at what they had discovered.

“This can’t be all the eleven by seventeen we have left! One ream?! One lousy ream?!” Piper fumed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If this keeps up, we're out of business, and that rat bastard McDonough wins!” She actually growled in frustration, then made an effort to calm down. “Okay. We do run of a hundred papers, make what we have last until we can locate some more paper.” Nat busied herself carefully counting out the pages while Piper set the type. When all was ready, the paper was loaded into the letterpress tray, and Piper started to work the lever that drove the press. Perhaps twenty copies had been printed when a loud unmusical *ping!* sounded deep in the guts of the machine, and Piper pitched forward, caught off guard.

“That didn’t sound good, Piper.” Nat looked very worried. 

“No, no, no, no, no, NO! Not now!” Piper dropped to her knees, peering into the depths of her beloved printing press. “SHIT!” Piper heaved herself to her feet, ripping off her press cap and throwing it across the room, stomping two steps towards the door, two steps to the press, swearing a blue streak that threatened to peel the paint off the walls.

“What’s wrong, Piper?” Nat had to yell to get through to her sister.

“The god-damn main drive lever and axle snapped!”

Nat was on the verge of panic as she watched Piper. “Can it be fixed?” 

“I don’t think so.” Piper threw herself into a slump on the couch, looking defeated. “We’re in trouble, Nat. I…I don’t know what to do.” Piper turned away from Nat, staring at the wall. Nat approached her sibling, reaching out to comfort her. “Not now, please. Just…go away.” Nat fled out of the house, the door banging shut behind her.

*-*-*

Nat pelted into the street, fetching up across the way against the wall of the All Faiths Chapel. Blue was off god-knows-where, and Nick with him. Most of the adults she knew were too busy to pay any attention to her, and McDonough would seize the opportunity to throw them out of town. Arturo, maybe? No, he had a shop to run, and guns were way different than a printing press. Curie! Of course! She was smart, and even better, Curie kinda had a thing going on with Piper and Blue. Nat hoped Curie was still staying at Home Plate, as she set off at a run, dodging people until she reached the door, pounding on it.

The door opened after the second time knocking. “Allo? Who is making all of zis noise?”, Curie asked. “Ah, but it is you, Mademoiselle Nat.”

“Curie, you’ve gotta come quick! Piper is real upset, and I’m scared she mi--" Nat didn’t have a chance to finisher her sentence before Curie bellowed back inside Home Plate, “Angela! Secours! Immediatement!” Angela appeared at once, professionally assessed the situation, nodded at Curie, and motioned to lead the way. 

Nat, Curie, and Angela were just approaching the corner to Publick Occurances when Gene Dandridge led a stumbling and obviously injured Renee Jones towards Doctor Sun's surgery. Just behind them, another familiar face reached the bottom of the stairs. “Cait! Your timing, it is impeccable!”, Curie called, waving. Angela’s attention was divided, trying to keep track of the injured Renee, and assimilating data on the newcomer. “Angela, attend to Mademoiselle Jones, Cait will assist me with Piper”, Curie decided. Angela nodded, darting after Gene and Renee.

Cait was more than a little confused. “Do ye mind tellin' me what the hell's goin' on? Where’s the bloody fire?”

Curie waved the Boston Irish redhead closer. “Mademoiselle Nat is concerned Piper has become emotionally overwrought, and may ‘arm herself.”

“Well that’s just feckin' dandy, isn’t it?”, Cait huffed, hands on her hips. “I make the fecking hike to spend some quality time with our man, and Miss Nosey Parker has to pick today to chuck a feckin' wobbly! Come on!” Cait stalked across the portico of Publick Occurances, and slammed the door open. Nat and Curie trailed in her wake. “What in the bloody hell has yer knickers in a twist, Wright?”, the former cage fighter demanded to know.

“The goddamn printing press is fucked, not that it’s any of your business!”, Piper growled.

Cait blinked. “That’s all? The bloody mimeo is cocked up?” Piper nodded, scowling. “Sweet baby Jaysus, jest get Sturgis to set the bloody thing te rights. I came with the last caravan. I’ll jest run up and send the word. You sit tight.” Cait marched out the door past the stunned Curie and Nat, heading up the stairs out of sight.

Piper stared at Nat and Curie. “What the hell just happened?”

Curie summed up, ticking points off on her fingers. “Un, your tempair tantrum alarmed your sister. Deux, she ask me for ‘elp, she was so concerned about you. Trois, Mademoiselle Cait suggested a course of action your tempair prevented you from seeing. Zere-fore, my considered opinion is”, Curie’s volume went up a notch, “Learn To Control Your Tempair! Merci”, she concluded politely, her voice back at its everyday level. Piper swore she’d heard capitol letters in Curie’s admonishment.

Cait reappeared at the door, puffing slighly from her run up the stairs and back. “Alright, the caravan has sent a runner, Sturgis should be here in a day or so.” She fixed her eye on Piper. “When’s the last time you had a proper piss up?” At Piper’s non-committal “Ummm, well ya see…”, Cait blew a strand of her auburn hair out of her eyes. “Right, you’re on your own until later, Natural Disaster. I’m taking herself and Frilly-knickers over there out for a drink. Or four.” Nat giggled at Cait's nick-name for her. “Curie, do ye know any other ladies who could do with a proper night out?”

Curie grinned. “Mais oui.”

*-*-*-*-*

It was full dark when Cait, Piper, Angela, and Curie were invited, with exceeding civility by the Bobrov brothers, to please return at a much later occasion as the Dugout Inn had closed for the night.

Piper purred in inebriated contentment. A fresh black eye was just starting to show on her left cheek. Curie dabbed experimentally at her nose, but otherwise pleased with the results of the evening, gently holding Angela’s raw-knuckled right hand. Cait grinned like an idiot, clutching a rather bedraggled cat under her arm. “God, I needed that", Piper slurred. 

“Ye got piss drunk, insulted three mercenaries, started a bar fight, and got a two week ban from the Dugout. All ye need to complete the night is a good shag!”, Cait pointed out.

Curie suggestively tugged Angela in the direction of Home Plate. “I believe I have ze shagging covered.” Angela giggled. 

“God, I’ve turned into a feckin' lightweight. Two bloody beers, and it was all I could do te keep poor Moggy here from bein' squashed”, Cait lamented.

“You hit a man with Scarlet's mop bucket!”, Piper pointed out to more giggles.

“’E was goin’ be stomp on pur wee Moggy ‘ere, and I weren’t about to let down our Nathan by lettin’ a puss get hurt”, Cait rejoined.

“A most salient point.” Piper sighed. “This is me, I’ll see you all tomorrow." She let herself in, watching as Curie led Angela to Home Plate, and Cait had laid claim to the Outfield trailer for the night. Nat was curled up in the blankets where her sister belonged. Piper stretched out on the couch, and promptly fell asleep.

*-*-*-*-*

Curie woke to delicious smells. Fortunately, she hadn’t indulged to the point she was hung over, and she found herself ravenous. She swung out of bed and padded down the stairs. Angela was at the wood-fired range, dressed only in a loose t-shirt and black panties, and rather incongruously, her Valkyrie suit headpiece. She was singing, apparently to music only she could hear, while she cooked a generous breakfast, legs kicking and hips swaying in a dance Curie found very enticing. Curie couldn’t resist, and stepped behind Angela, embracing her, but not preventing her dancing.

“Ah! Guten morgen, mein shatzen!” Angela turned in Curie’s arms to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. “Set ze table, I hope you are hungry.” Curie grinned, and hurried to comply.

Angela removed and set aside her halo while they ate. Curie glanced at it speculatively. “So, ze ‘alo, it has speakers to ‘ear ze radio?”

Angela nodded, chewing. She swallowed, then answered. “After a fashion. Direct neural interface via induction. No cumulative hearing loss.” Curie was amazed. “Would you like to try it? After breakfast?”

“Mais oui, if I may”, Curie answered honestly. Angela grinned, and they finished eating. Once the dishes and pans were cleaned and put away, Angela helped slip the snug fabric and halo armature onto Curie’s head. She looked enchanting. “Ready?”, Angela inquired. Curie nodded enthusiastically. 

Angela flipped up a small panel on the left forearm of her armor, tapped on the keypad within, selected an item, and tapped the screen twice more, watching Curie’s face.

Music the likes of which Curie had never experienced before swept aside the offerings of Diamond City Radio. Throbbing percussive beats, swirls of stringed instruments, and harmonic vocals that astounded her. She started kicking her feet and sashaying in time to the rhythm, dancing without inhibition. All too soon the reverberations faded away, and the song was over. Astounded, Curie removed the Valkyrie headpiece and handed it back to Angela. “I’m glad you enjoyed hearing Abba for the first time”, Angela said. “My secret vice is Twentieth century rock and pop music. I have about three hundred hours stored on my suit’s hard-drive.”

“Mon cher, this must be shared!” Curie was dead serious.

*-*-*-*-*

Sturgis arrived two days later, first stop Publick Occurances and a very nervous Piper.

From halfway underneath and well inside the printing press, Sturgis made his diagnosis. “Well, she’s busted all to hell, but I think I can fix her up. All I need is a welding rig. But you might want to set some traps. For rats that carry hacksaws.” He extricated himself and sat back against the press. “Sabotage. And not even good sabotage. I can have her up and running by the end of the day.” Piper whooped in joy, and hugged Sturgis in thanks.

“You get a free year of advertising", Piper promised. Nat sat on the couch, proud she’d helped her big sister.

“Allo?” Curie called from the doorway. “Eez Monsieur Sturgis still ‘ere?”

“I’m in here, Curie”, came the reply. 

“May I see you for a moment, maintenant?” Sturgis looked at Piper in puzzlement, climbed to his feet, and went to see what Curie wanted. 

“Monsieur, I would be most pleased if you could create a ‘olotape player for myself…and Angela, Doctor Ziegler. And perhaps you could…assist Monsieur Miles at ze radio station?”

“What are you up to, Curie?” She whispered the answer in his ear. “Alright! We have a plan. I have to fix the printing press first, though.”

“But of course.”

*-*-*-*-*

While Sturgis went about repairing the press and carrying out Curie’s mystery assignment, Piper went back to work. She’d had a suspicion, ever since Blue had gone to the Mayor’s office. But there was no way McDonough was going to just let her wander in. A sly grin crossed Piper’s face. She had the perfect cover.

Angela was at Power Noodle when Piper sat beside her. “As a doctor, you must be pretty concerned about water quality and sanitation, huh?” Angela nodded, non-committal. “Whattaya say to a full expose of the issue in the paper? It’s not the first time contaminated water has screwed up a community. I would know.”

“You want me to help you get into Herr McDonough’s office, don’t you?” Angela regarded Piper with a knowing expression.

Piper blinked in surprise. “Geez, I have to up my game if you saw through me that quickly.”

“Not at all. I fully intend to have strong words with your…illustrious public official on that very subject.” Angela stood up. “Let me go and dress more appropriately. Meet me by the lift in twenty minuten.”

*-*-*-*

The outer chamber of the Mayor’s office hadn’t changed, Piper noted. All the furniture exactly was exactly as it was the last she’d been escorted out, right down to the secretary, Geneva. “Ah, Miss Wright. The mayor still isn’t in. To you.”

“Oh, I’m not here to talk to McDonough. My associate, one the other hand…” Angela stepped forward at Piper's cue. Dressed in her black skirt, cream tunic, and white lab coat, she radiated authority.

“Guten Abend. I am Doctor Zeigler. I will see the mayor, now.” Decades of staring down bureaucratic minions blazed forth from Angela's demeanor. “We will be discussing public health, a topic I’m certain the mayor is concerned about.” Geneva smiled weakly, and rose from her desk to open the door to McDonough’s inner sanctum.

“A Doctor Zeigler to see you, Mayor”, Geneva announced. Angela strode into the office, unimpressed by the man or his politics, and pointedly closed the door behind her.

“A man in your position who has done nothing to ensure the health of the population is either incompetent or corrupt. After your performance the other day at Publick Occurances, you’d had best impress me that you're the former.” Angela pointedly sat across from McDonough, and he had the impression he was on the wrong side of the desk. “Begin”, Angela commanded.

*-*-*-*

“Well, that’s McDonut tied up for the day", Piper smirked. “Let’s you and I have a chat about previous city residents and where they lived, Geneva.” The suggestion was met with a sneer.

“It’s Mayor McDonough to you, and I’m not at liberty to discuss city business with hack journalists.” Geneva sat back, arms folded across her chest. Piper hooked her palms on the edge of the desk, leaning forward on straight arms.

“I think it’s in your interest to reconsider your relationship with the press, Geneva sweetie. I’m just about the only thing between your boss and an enraged father who uses a very big gun. A father who says jump, and the Minutemen ask ‘how high?’ on the way up.” Piper enjoyed seeing Geneva's eyes dart from side to side as she considered. “The rev says confession is good for the soul. Time to prove you have one.”

*-*-*-*-*

Two days after Geneva had silently handed over everything she had on the man known as Kellogg, Piper sat at her terminal, indexing and collating information. Cait sat on the couch, legs tucked up beside her, reading an ancient copy of Grognak and the Princess From Hell, with Nat on the other side of the couch reading an equally aged novel.

A sharp rap on the door, and it swung open to reveal Nick Valentine. Alone. Piper was torn between elation and terror. Cait just looked scared.

“Nick, where's--", Piper began. Nick lifted a hand and she stopped short.

“Nate's okay. Physically. He’s at the Dugout, ‘thinking’ his way through a bottle of Vadim's reserve stock”, Nick explained. “Mentally, he’s a wreck. We found out his son is in the Institute. Has been for at least eight or ten years.” Yellow eyes went from Cait to Piper. “He’s going to need you.”

Piper and Cait came to their feet as one. The synth detective stood aside to watch them go.

*-*-*-*-*

Effem Bobrov saw Piper and Cait as they entered the Dugout Inn. “Now ladies, ve were polite when we asked you to stay away for two veek--"

“Effem, you are an idiot", Vadim announced to the bar. “These lovely ladies are here to greet their hero! Vone drink on the house for everybody, and cheers for the General!” Nate had just enough time to look up before he was enthusiastically tackled by Cait and Piper.

“Don’t you ever, ever do that again! Scaring us like that.” Piper said through gritted teeth as she pummeled Blue's shoulder, just hard enough to let him know she was serious. Cait cupped his chin in one hand, turning him to face her green-eyed glare. “That goes double for me, lover. And you know how dirty I can fight.”

Nate wrapped his arms around both of them. “It’s good to see you. Let’s go home.”

Piper’s bed was out of the question, the Outfield trailer was laughably small for the purpose, so the only viable option was Home Plate. Nate, Piper, and Cait surmounted the stairs the bed loft, and stopped short, staring at the already occupied empress bed. A brightly blushing Curie and a rather embarrassed Angela stared back.

“Cher Nathan, let me--", Curie stopped as Stark lifted his hand. Piper and Cait glanced at him.

“I would like to take this opportunity to say you were right, Piper.” She gaped at her lover in surprise. “Now Blue, don’t over-re--", she began, but his chuckle cut her off.

“No, it’s okay. You said the breakfast nook was too small, and you were right.” He nudged Piper and Cait. “C’mon, the fold-out couch will do for tonight.”

“That bloody hide-a-bed is murder on me knees, you know that”, Cait groused as the trio left Curie and Angela to resume their nocturnal activities.


	29. Remains of the Davey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a good day to be a bad guy

Travis ‘Lonely' Miles, stared at his microphone. One flick of a switch, and he would change his life. One hell of a decision. But after all the work Sturgis did, it would be shame not to. Travis eyed the stack of holotapes, each one filled to capacity with hours of music that he never knew even existed, that could exist. The look on Miss Curie’s face as he listened to what she'd offered, he couldn’t betray that. A shaky breath, a strident whisper from his timid past, almost made him sweep the ‘tapes into a drawer, to forget about them. ‘That's not me anymore’, he decided. He picked up the tape labeled ‘New Beginnings', slid it into the newly modified holotape player that had been connected to his radio transceiver, closed the door, and flipped the main power switch on. A brief hiss of static, and a momentary feedback, and he was on the air.

People across Diamond City looked up, confused and startled by the short-lived howl of feedback from the stadium loudspeakers that had been silent for decades. And then, a voice they all recognised…

“Gooooood morning, Diamond City! This is Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles, the voice of Diamond City Radio, loud and proud, new and improved, with new sounds, new music, new energy! Now coming at you with twenty-five kilowatts of power, twenty-four hours a day, and a new public address feature for city-wide announcements and breaking news! Now let's rock and roll!” The opening bars of Chuck Berry’s ‘Johnny B. Goode' blasted from the foldback speaker horns, startling birds into flight. 

In the Dugout Inn, a glass shattered at the feet of Vadim Bobrov, having slipped out of his fingers in surprise. “I’ll be damned”, Vadim said in admiration.

Nate Stark heard the knock at the door of Home Plate while he was making a late breakfast for the enlarged household, and opened the door to see Gene Dandridge standing there. “May ah come in? Ah'd like to have a word with Doctor Zeigler, if ah may.”

“Certainly. Have something to eat if it suits you.” Nate motioned Gene in, gesturing at the refurbished diner booth used as a breakfast nook, presently occupied only by bowls of food, a cracked plastic tumbler filled with mismatched silverware, another full of spoons, and a stack of three dinner plates of varying design and colors. Nate padded up to the sleeping loft to fetch Angela, while Cait and Piper sat half-covered by bedclothes, enjoying breakfast.

“Ah don’t mean to be rude, but how do you… you know?” Gene inquired of the pair on the bed.

“Scheduling", said Cait around a bite of a bacon and fried egg sandwich. “Honesty and communication”, was Piper’s reply. “Doesn’t hurt matters that we mostly get along with each other", Cait riposted. Gene smiled weakly, more than a little out of her depth.  
Nate descended the stairs, followed by Angela and Curie, both wearing blue Vault-Tec t-shirts that were large on them. Curie passed Gene with a small sleepy smile, muttering something about caffeine. Angela stopped in front of Gene. “How may I be of assistance, Miss Dandridge?”

“Two things, actually. And ah hope ah'm not bein’ out of line, but do you think you and Curie might be a little bit less…enthusiastic…when you’re having sex? The walls between your bedroom and mine aren’t all that thick”, Gene said.

Angela’s cheeks colored slightly. “I understand. And your second concern?”

The raven haired shop owner looked slightly embarrassed herself. “Ah appreciate you helping out Doctor Sun the other day. Ah understand you two have some differences of opinion when it comes to patching people up, and ah'll admit he’s been my go-to forever, but would you mind terribly looking in on Short Stack, I mean, Renee?”

“Mademoiselle Renee must be very fortunate to ‘ave someone like you to care for ‘er", Curie observed. Gene felt heat rise in her cheeks.

Angela professionally diffused the tension. “I’d be remiss, not checking in on a patient. Shall we say twenty minutes, and I will come over?”

“That'll do fine", Gene agreed. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

Twenty minutes later, dressed in what she considered her ‘work clothes’, Angela let herself into ‘Wicked Apparel’. “Welcome back, Doctor Ziegler,” Z0-E announced. Gene looked up from her hand-sewing, relieved. 

“She’s on the couch upstairs", Gene said. Angela nodded, and ascended to Gene’s small apartment. Angela pulled an old kitchen chair closer to the couch to examine Renee, who groaned quietly at the Overwatch medico's evaluation of her condition. When she'd finished, Angela returned the chair to it’s original position. 

“May I speak with you, downstairs.” Gene grasped this was not a request. The two women returned to the shop below.  
Gene nervously took her accustomed seat behind the counter, Angela leaning against the end, facing Gene. A moment's silence stretched out longer than Gene liked.

“Miss Jones has a moderate traumatic brain injury, the result of a deliberate blow to the back of the head, and a compound fracture of the radius and ulna of the right arm, also the result of deliberate harm. The arm will heal, possibly with reduced mobility or sensation on the hand and fingers, in four to six weeks. The tee-bee-eye will require moderate bed rest for a week, and light duties or activities for three weeks after that. Be aware of changes in temperament or behavior, signs of depression, or reduced co-ordination. I also detect signs of previous long term physical abuse or trauma. Doctor Sun's splinting will suffice until such time as I can prepare a proper cast to insure her best chance of recovery, and I will share my stock of analgesic pain medication to ease what I am sure is a most unpleasant headache”, Angela pronounced, arms crossed. “That is my professional diagnosis and prognosis.”

Gene blinked. Doctor Zeigler’s medical acumen left Sun's in the dust.

“Tell me who did this to her.” Again, not a request.

“It was her no-account ex-boyfriend, Davey”, Gene admitted. “He'd been hanging around for three days or so, waiting for Renee.”

“This did not alarm you?” Angela’s accent had noticeably thickened.

“He said he wanted to talk to her. Ah didn’t expect him to pull a gun and drag her out!”, Gene barked defensively. 

“And yet you did not alert Diamond City security. As a profitable merchant, they would have responded promptly to your demands.”

“Ah went after her myself!”, Gene almost shouted. “Ah wasn’t about to let a-a gang of trumped up goons let something happen to the person ah lo-". She cut herself off before she blurted out the truth. Slightly less heatedly, she continued. “What ah mean to say is, the Batters don’t have the best track record when it comes to helping people, and ah couldn’t wait around while they decided whether they should pull their thumbs out of their asses.”

“Where is Davey now?”

“Geez, you sound like you’ve been hanging out with Nick Valentine”, Gene quipped.

“Herr Valentine and I are acquainted, and you did not answer the question.”

Gene huffed a wisp of hair out of her face in frustration. “I left him lying on the street on the way to Boston Common. After I blew half his face off! Between the two of us, Shor-, I mean Renee and I took out his three goons as well.”

Angela pushed off from the counter. “Thank you very much for your time, Miss Dandridge. Don’t hesitate to call on me if you have any other medical needs or questions. I’ll let myself out.” The bell over the for chimed as Doctor Zeigler departed.

Gene shivered. “Why do I have the idea I don’t want to be Davey right now?”, she asked Z0-E. The repurposed combat droid remained silent.

*-*-*-*-*

Angela stormed back into Home Plate, stomping up the stairs, stripping out of her work clothes on the way up. Curie remained quiet when she saw the look on Angela’s face. Long practice had Angela dressed in her Valkyrie suit in minutes, and she swung to the floor below, ignoring the stairs completely. She flung Cait's clothes at her. “Dress, arm yourself, and meet me at the general store in five minutes. Move!” Cait scrambled to obey, as Angela stripped a combat rifle and a bag of magazines out of Nate's weapon rack, and slammed the door behind her.

Myrna glanced up from her battered magazine at the sound of the slamming door, wary as ever. A blonde woman, maybe a synth, she’d seen around town was marching towards her. Before she could even speak, the woman cut her off.

“I require two ten meter lengths of light rope, five fencing spikes, a short sledge hammer, paint, and brush. Now!”, the blonde commanded. 

“Uh…uh, r-right away, miss", Myrna stammered, and started rummaging through her stock for the items. Cait arrived, shotgun in hand, just in time to have the coils of rope tossed to her.

“I'm not yer feckin' pack mule!”, Cait said heatedly. “D'ye mind tellin’ me what the hell's goin' on?” Angela was already on her way to the stairs leading to Diamond City's main gate. “Slow down, dammit!”

Outside the city, Angela turned to face the visibly annoyed Cait. “Curie told me about your personal background, your upbringing and experiences.”

“That’s none o' Frilly-knickers concern, and none o' yer business frankly”, Cait said, her face darkening as her temper came up.

“You’re angry. Good. Use that anger. Let it fuel you. We are going to avenge ourselves on a verdammt rapist!”, Angela announced. Cait’s mood instantly shifted to something predatory. 

“Well, why didn’t ye say so in the first place?”

A short time later, the two women gazed down at the bodies of the late Davey and his accomplices. Cait swore, feeling she had been cheated, stopped, and took a closer look at one of the corpses. A slugger lay fallen near his hand. She straightened, and swung a vicious kick at the dead man’s head. Angela merely raised an eyebrow at her. “He had it comin'", Cait said calmly.

Davey proved easier to identify, for as Gene has described, his was missing the lower half of his face, a newish pipe revolver still gripped in his hand. That is, until Cait pried it loose, breaking two of Davey’s fingers in the process. “Waste not", was her only comment. Satisfied with their identification, Angela looped one end of a coil of rope around Davey's ankles, and the two women unceremoniously started dragging the corpse towards Diamond City. 

Two raiders chose this moment to spring their ambush. Angela shot from the hip, the combat rifle barking three times in rapid fire, Cait's shotgun booming twice. One raider lived long enough to see the rifle point at her for the coup de grace. “No Mercy today.”

*-*-*-*-* 

Frank didn’t know who he’d pissed off enough to be assigned guard duty beyond the Wall, but whoever it was, he silently apologised to them profusely when he saw who was coming up the street towards him, none other than the blonde one-time wastelander who’d ripped off the Mega Surgery Center, and the former cage fighter known as Cait, who casually removed a man long piece of two by four from barricade supplies meant for bolstering Diamond City defenses with a cheery “Ta!”

When he saw what they were dragging behind them, he was more glad than ever he hadn’t stopped Doctor Sun from being looted.

The hammering sounds that followed shortly after were awful.

*-*-*-*-*

For the next several weeks, a grisly sight greeted caravans and travellers who arrived at the square outside Diamond City's gate.

Davey’s remains had been crucified upside-down, a sign in bright green paint hung above his feet. It read:

“This is Davey.

Davey was a rapist.

Don’t be a Davey.”


	30. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birth of a new faction

Vadim Bobrov leaned on the bar, and shot a grin at his brother who was perched on a chair next to the door to the rental rooms. The space in front of the bar had seen a steady stream of patrons all day, and caps had flowed as freely as the Dugout Inn’s booze. One of the Inn's rooms had been occupied since noon by a young couple who had just married that morning at the All Faiths Chapel, and the other two rooms were probably going to be occupied as well. Da, life was good. 

Vadim heard the front door open, and stay open long enough to admit several people. His grin wavered when he saw who they were. Nick Valentine, Piper Wright, the strikingly attractive Doctor Ziegler, and the General of the Minutemen, Nate Stark. They looked calm enough, but Vadim was learning to be on guard when any two of them came into his bar. This particular combination did not bode well. Effem’s normally hangdog expression was now downright dour.

Stark approached the bar, while Valentine spoke quietly to the regulars at each table, who started rise and casually filter out. “Vadim, I want to rent the bar for the night, for a private function.” Effem looked pleadingly heavenward. Vadim sensed an opportunity. 

“I couldn’t possibly do this on such short notice, and certainly not for less than--"

“A thousand caps?”, Stark offered. Effem’s expression of prayer turned into one of gratitude. Vadim stuck out his hand. “Deal!” 

“We’re just waiting for one more person before we begin”, Nate explained.

“I vill greet them at the door myself", Vadim offered. “Who is it you are expecting?”

“Preston Garvey.” In his mind Vadim howled a string of lamenting invective, a smile frozen on his face.

*-*-*-*-*

The settlement provisioner caravan guarded by the Minutemen had made excellent time from the Starlight Drive-in to Vault 81, even accounting for the normally plodding pace brahmin travelled at. It was early evening now, and the lowering skies which had earlier hinted at rain now delivered on that in full as the caravan reached the plaza outside the gate of Diamond City.

Preston Garvey nodded to Diamond City gate officer Danny Sullivan as he tramped in out of the weather. Sullivan casually saluted Garvey in return. As expected, Requisition officer Libby was at her post as well, which was fortunate, as the Minutemen had some weapons and other items to trade that a raider party no longer needed. Garvey handed off the trade duties to his sergeant, and shifted the pack that carried the precious cargo from Vault 81 to a more comfortable position, then climbed the stairs to enter Diamond City proper.

A short rain-soaked walk brought Preston to the Dugout Inn. He removed his hat, swung it to shed the worst of the water it had accumulated, and shook the water beaded on his coat off, and clapped his hat back in place, then entered and was greeted and escorted to his friends by his least favorite Bobrov brother. Drinks and food were already on the table, and a lazy curl of smoke drifted up from the cigarette in Nick Valentine’s skeletal right hand. Doctor Ziegler, recipient of the Vault 81 shipment, sat close to the synth detective.

“How is that a guy known as a Minuteman is hardly ever on time?”, came Piper's cheerful sarcasm. “Not all of us can be Wright”, Preston returned the volley, deadpan. Piper choked on her mouthful of beer. “Did, did Garvey just crack wise?”, Piper gasped, while the others around the table chuckled or groaned at the wordplay. 

Nate pulled out a chair for his second in command, in a space between himself and Nick. “Scarlet, a house special for Preston, and maybe some hot coffee if you have it.” Garvey hung his hat and shrugged out of the pack, letting out a quiet groan of relief as he got off his feet. Scarlet delivered Preston’s meal and a large mug of steaming coffee a moment later.

“I hope you all don’t mind if I chow down while we have this little conference", Preston said as he scooped up his first spoonful of the house special.

“Not at all, Garvey", Nick said. “This jaw session is Angela’s idea, so I say we turn the floor over to her.”

“Thank you, Nick”, Angela smiled at the detective as she assumed control of the conversation. “As you may or not know, I’m not from this reality, this alternative universe. I was stranded here about a month ago, and have been observing, gathering information that could prove useful to the inhabitants of Diamond City and the Commonwealth in general.

Frankly I’m amazed that a major contagion has not ravaged the area, given the almost non-existent water and sanitation systems inside Diamond City, and the certainly more primitive facilities elsewhere. The rapidity of the onset of the influenza variant Piper's sister contracted alone is proof enough. The information I have gleaned about the local junker camps is appalling to say the least. Cholera, typhus, dysentery, and tuberculosis are all well within the realm of possibility, which are just some of the reasons I worked with Doctors Forsythe and Rachel of Vault 81 to synthesize a broad spectrum panno-immune vaccine in production quantities for the general inoculation of participating communities. Improved herd immunity will benefit the Commonwealth as a whole.

In order to carry out this vital task I propose the creation of an effort I would like to call Medecinś des Terreś Desoleé, or M.T.D., the Doctors of the Wasteland. We can arrange for a meeting of all qualified physicians who wish to participate, and--" Nick cleared his throat by way of gentle interruption.

“Not that I don’t think this is a brilliant idea, and it is, I think at this point I should bring up what happened to the C.P.G., the Commonwealth Provisional Government”, Nick explained. “About ten or so years ago, several of the larger settlements sent representatives to a meeting which would have created a regional power structure.

The problem was, one of those representatives was a synth infiltrator. The entire membership of the proposed government was wiped out by the Institute, the experiment in centralised decision making snuffed out before it even began.

Given the present company, I’d really prefer not giving the Institute another kick at the can, if you catch my drift.” Nicks yellow eyes settled on Angela. Nods around the table made it unanimous.

Angela was crestfallen. “I can’t, I refuse to sit idle when I know I can help. That’s why I joined Overwatch, why I rejoined them in secret after they were disbanded. What can we do then, if this phantom that so many fear, this ‘Institute' can strike with impunity?”

“We know they exist, we’ve seen the results of their handiwork”, Piper mused aloud, thumb tapping her lower lip. “The problem is, we don’t know where they are, or who leads them, but they can reach out and kidnap or kill anytime, any place. Hell, they had an agent in town for years, an inside man who probably assisted with those very activities.” Dark looks from Stark and Valentine confirmed this hypothesis. “For all we know, there’s at least one more Institute ringer in the city. That, I am certain of, and my money has always been on McDonough. People can call me paranoid, but I think I’m being proved right.”

Nate was silent, his eyes unreadable behind his mirrored sunglasses. 

Preston scraped up the last of the gravy from his meal, took a sip of coffee, and belched slightly. “I think I might have an idea how we work around the Institute, and use our limited resources to our advantage. The Minutemen already have scouts and patrols all over the Commonwealth, so we can relay messages to interested parties, while confirming locations of community or itinerant physicians. At the same time, we use classified ads in the Publick to send coded messages to allied settlements.”

Nate smiled. “That’s a pretty damn slick idea, Preston. Well done, and I think we can expand on it. Why not detail Minutemen to act as post couriers. It means the double benefit of increasing communication between settlements and allied farms, and strengthening the unity of the Commonwealth as a whole. We could increase distribution of Publick Occurrences at the same time.” 

“Only one small flaw in the last part of that plan, Blue", Piper said glumly. “Publick Occurrences isn’t going to be around much longer. I figure I’ve got enough paper left to do three very limited print runs, and then Nat and I get the bums rush out to Goodneighbor.”

“No doubt courtesy of Mayor McDonut”, Nick observed. Piper nodded sadly. A mournful silence fell over the table.

“Why not just make more paper?”, Nate asked. Piper stared at him as if he’d suddenly become a ghoul. “Maybe because no can remember how to make paper, lover", she scoffed.

“Did you ever bother to ask someone who was around when papermaking was a major industry?”, Stark queried.

“Who did you have in mind?", Piper shot back. Nate tapped his temple. 

“Me.”

“And this is why I’m glad he’s on our side", Nick said dryly. “Always full of surprises.”

Angela smiled, leaning her chin on interlaced fingers, her elbows on the table, looking very much like a very regal cat who cat just eaten a singularly unlucky canary. “I do believe we have a plan.”

*-*-*-*-* 

It was the following midday when Gene Dandridge tapped on the Home Plate door. After no response, she turned away. Last nights rain had blown out, and the day was warm and sunny, with strands of gauzy high clouds. 

“They ain’t there, Dandridge", Myrna called, irritable as ever.

“Excuse me?”

“The platinum blonde killer angel and her Frenchie girlfriend were all dressed up when they left. I saw, because I’ve got good eyes, eyes like a…well, they're good eyes”, Myrna said defensively. 

“Did your good eyes happen to see which way they went?”, Gene prodded.

“Back towards the science lab maybe”, was the sullen reply. Gene left without saying goodbye. 

Myrna’s tip turned out to be on the money. Both Angela and Curie were still at the Science! Center when Gene stuck her head in. Professor Scara regarded her intrusion with annoyance.

“Yes, is there something terribly important that you need to interrupt us with?”, Scara demanded. 

“Ah was just looking for Doctor Ziegler. Ah wanted to let her know ah’m sorry ah’m late with her dress, but it’s ready now.” Scara rolled her eyes in exasperation, which made Curie giggle impishly.

“Thank you for taking the trouble to let me know, Fraulein Dandridge. I will look in on Renee when I come to pick it up, say at five o’clock?”, Angela replied. Gene waved acknowledgement and let the quartet return to their discussion.

“So, it’s agreed Professor and I will assist your wasteland doctor initiative", Doctor Duff announced happily. “I look forward to a successful partnership.”

Angela and Curie rose and took their leave, heading towards the water purification plant and Sheng Kowalski. They chatted amiably about plans for the evening, and Angela stopped Nat Wright as she was running the bases with a friend, asking her to drop off a note at the Valentine Detective Agency on her next circuit, a request Nat agreed to instantly. “Anything for the person who saved my life", Nat proclaimed with adolescent solemnity.

-*-*- 

“Look, ladies, I run a business, and giving away my product would seriously impact my cash flow.” Sheng was unimpressed with Angela’s proposal.

“Monsieur Sheng, ‘ow many customers will you ‘ave if zey all perish from preventable disease?”, Curie countered. “And ‘ow would it benefit you if you are ze one who perishes instead?”

Kowalski pondered for a moment. “Ladies, I see I may have to reconsider your offer.” 

“That was very intuitive, appealing to Sheng’s instinct for self-preservation”, Angela remarked as they walked over the dock back to dry land. Curie took a moment to point out Stark’s Outfield trailer. Angela in turn made one quick stop to hand off a note to Travis Miles, and then they proceeded to the meeting Angela had been delaying. The face-to-face with Doctor Sun.

*-*-*-*-*

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, what is it? I’m a busy…wait, have we met before?”, Doctor Sun inquired.

Angela smiled diplomatically. “Some three weeks ago, while I was attired more suitably for conditions beyond Diamond City. We had a disagreement about your suggested method of compensation for medical supplies I requisitioned to prevent a potential pandemic.”

Sun looked pointedly at the distinct boot heel sized dent in the back wall of his infirmary. “Ah. Yes. You made a lasting impression on me at that time”, he noted irritably. “Perhaps this time you’d simply like to rob me?”

“Doctor Sun, I realize that you are a dedicated and passionate medical professional who has to cope with severely limited resources under sub-optimal working conditions, treating patients who are unable or unwilling to admit the vital role you play in this community. I apologize for my actions taken in the heat of the moment, and hereby offer to make any reasonable restitution for the inconvenience to you at the time.” Angela stood, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Curie looked on, mildly astonished that Angela could temper her own ego in such a manner.

Doctor Sun thought for a moment. This upstart woman, who had calmly and very competently threatened his life, was now asking forgiveness. This woman who had access to medical knowledge and techniques that could boost his business. A factor to consider was her connection the nebulous but very real and growing political power of the Minutemen, bolstered by the obnoxious but informative owner of Publick Occurrences. An additional point was he and his business partner Doctor Crocker had been all but ignored by the mayor and his cronies. Forgiveness was a wise decision.

Doctor Sun extended his hand. “Let’s just call it a professional misunderstanding. I’ll let bygones be bygones on one condition: I take you to dinner.” He raised a hand to forestall her objections. “Strictly business, I promise.” 

“Agreed”, Angela said as they shook hands to seal the bargain. “But not this evening. I have a previous commitment.” Sun nodded affably. 

“As a first effort of our new understanding, I’d like to present you the opportunity to be the foundation of Medecinś des Terreś Desoleé, the Doctors of the Wasteland”, Angela offered. “One of our goals would be the preventative vaccination of the population of Diamond City, with the eventual vaccination of the entire region.”

The way Angela approached this proposal piqued Doctor Sun's professional curiosity. “Do you have a few moments so we can perhaps discuss this in some detail?”

Angela smiled. “Certainly. My associate Curie has a pivotal role in this endeavor, so any discussion must include her.” Curie stepped forward, and extended her hand in greeting.

“Bon jour, Doctor Sun…”

*-*-*-*-*

Several hours later, Angela rushed to Wicked Apparel, checked on Renee as promised, then tried on her new dress. Miss Dandridge's expression confirmed her expectations. Angela thanked her, changed again and dashed to Home Plate, where she hurried through her toilette, preparing for her evening’s commitment.

Nate had been busy with his own project, a Radiation King television had been wired to a holotape player, and he was now testing the final connections.

Attired in her new dress, Angela stepped close to Curie, embracing her. “Are you sure you don’t mind me going out?”

Curie kissed Angela, tenderly, passionately. “I do not mind in ze least. Besides, cher Nathan has promised Piper, Cait, and I something called ‘movie night’, and would ‘ate to disappoint ‘im after all the effort he has made. Do please enjoy your evening.”

*-*-*-*-*

7:30, right on the nose, and Nick Valentine stood on the balcony of the Colonial Taphouse, waiting for the source of the note Nat had delivered earlier in the day. This wasn’t his first clandestine rendezvous. Overhead, Diamond City Radio speakers started to play a song he was unfamiliar with, some piece about “Sharing the Night Together". A footstep alerted him, and the last person he might have expected stepped into the light, smiling, devastatingly beautiful in a black silk dress that clung to her curves. “Angela?” 

A smile was her only answer.

*-*-*-*-*

At that same moment, across the city, a knock sounded on the door of Travis Miles. With a sigh, he opened it, and stopped, staring.

“Scarlet? What are you doing he--". The voice of Diamond City Radio was silenced with a kiss.


End file.
